The Cold Morning Breeze: An Afterword of Vincent
by Maester R
Summary: The life of Vincent after FFVII; one of five installments called the Five Page Letter. Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated here, or any feedback.
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
  
  
The cold, sweet morn' of that crimson touched city, blossomed as my eye looked onward and watched. It was that feeling, of slow, but sure healing... That cold wind wouldn't linger here much longer. The once black sky finally released its assemblage of magnificence upon that once shallow land, I could only remember to be as Midgar.  
  
But this was the Picturesque Midgar, not rough or bland; dead and malicious. It was a fitful home, my home. A place much more gorgeous than a coffin, for me to bask in sorrow and pain. Here, and now is where I belong, not in a coffin, just here.   
  
Where the implosion of a company, replenished a city of lost dreams, of slums and mansions. This was my Holy Land, my temple and forever-dwelling place.  
  
This was my home, amongst the flowers where no place else could be more bountiful. This was my ground, and my love.  
  
This was my Midgar.  
_____  
Ù  
  
That glorious morning chill sent a sense of relief again, in the common sequence of things, it seems. Just about when that sun rises over those hills that stood behind those endless plains of green. A surge, a huge engulfment of wind, whose only purpose was to send that beautiful cold through my fingertips once more, those blistered fingers that still could feel that sudden shift of wind, only to then touch my face, just like always.  
  
It was for months now, that wind would always put that willingness to work just one more day, and then again to continue on the day, which followed after that. It was like warmth to me, but instead meant to only keep me aware, alert, and ready for that constant foe. That replicating force of lacking stratagem would never grow in intelligence, but within numbers.  
  
Yes, monsters, the foe that man did create. Now, even with those reactors destroyed, and the lunatic experiments of Hojo's or anyone else dealing with mako fusion, now and forever prohibited, throughout the land of where the Lifestream would flow, rivulet to rivulet; monsters still appeared everywhere. Without any evident reason, just still alive, and apparently vindictive.   
  
Yes, vindictive, and very much truculent. Like the previous bellicosity of their natural visage wasn't enough, as if we delighted in the contentious hell they would proliferate. Hence my blistered fingers, and my scarred back and face, all examples of imp brutality. They'd usually hide within the sewers of the city, now having an expedition crew gallantly marching through that revolting green water, with scarcely infested rats to accompany them. I, on the other hand, deplored at that disgusting escapade of human refuse, searching for my kobold, hardly ever victorious.  
  
I chose to be more effective, more useful, and not as servile. Yes, my job was to hunt, and kill monsters (again, not so depreciatively as the Crusading Plumbers-I appreciate that redeeming quality of air). It was to protect my home, a place I am quite fond of. I watched the streets, patrolling like an officer, especially among the rebuilding sites where such large beams of healing could be seen, and those brave workers working blissfully in the morning's breeze, that I love so much.  
  
It was common to see one, menacingly prowling around the city, yet today, not so much. For months have pasted, now becoming slower, favorably slow. Not fast, and harsh while dolefully awaiting the next strike of pointless imps; the next move on that philosophical chessboard.  
  
I wasn't going to wait for them to move first.  
  
Feinting anything off alone is hard. But with numbers, that is to do this job with much ease. I was a leader of a team, a nameless force. We never thought of one, strangely never thought to, since we hardly knew each other, something like a name is hard to fathom with a myriad of strangers. There is some commonality between them, they each are fighters, so determined, that without a leader, they'd end up killing each other. Odd? Yes, they are, but I admire an ardent heart.  
  
Lusus Naturae, that is what they are, and forever will be, the abomination of the Planet. But, ridding the world of such unorganized terroristic threats had been somewhat primitive; a simple sentence, really. Seek, find, and kill- yes, simplicity in the most violent way. Now, that was the true purpose of that forceful blast of wind, just to remind me, while it would slightly push, always be ready-for anything.  
  
At least they were, that was apparent as the stars that could be seen clearly within the vast openness of the firmament. Yes that now visible sky could actually be seen in Midgar, even better by my home.   
  
It was the building where the Shinra would work continuously, always bathing within that corpulent amount of money. Yet, it didn't feel extravagant or luxurious at all. Since the Meteor incident, the building was thought to be ruined, which it was. It was a architectural disaster, probable to topple at any moment, at any time. But, the demolition workers, in their lassitude, left it to fall in its own gravitational inclination or collapse. They are still trying to predict the time of collapse, still unknown. So, in my current homelessness, I decided to take advantage of this massive shelter, only to think of it as nothing more, but as shelter.   
  
As you could see, I do not possess a greedy heart, only servility exists. That, as you could predict, not very lucrative or even pertaining to prehensility. So, within that room, which was the top floor is that elevator, still functional, and if ever to fail; I'd take the stairs, anyway. The red carpet, whose vibrant color faded with the coloring and covering of dust and debris, still scattered in every direction of its territorial limits. The smell, when entering, is stark with a still dwindling amount of dust, still on the endeavor of gravity. The gravity would pull it gently from the ceiling plasters, which over them, contains those little fragments of dust, and ash accompanied by anything that dwelled within that room over the past few months, miscellaneously composed.  
  
Next was that staircase, with those marble stairs that was once prestigiously fabricated by carpenters, only now falling apart. Each step was originally fused together with the metal undercoating, but now the adhesive was no longer strong enough to hold each marble board; there only remained the steel undercoat, now collectively attracting dust and airborne materials.  
  
Yes, it was dark. And it was just that, dark. Though the vivid chandler that held those small, but intricately designed crystal droplets (I have affectionately called them). They'd only light with the coming of that fiery blaze relentlessly rising and falling, unremittingly entering the still solid glass windows, directly touching the crystal chandler. Ultimately creating that magnificent glory of light through the quartz, bouncing back on, and off each other. Then creating an avid display of coloration in every direction-yet not so blinding.  
  
There was beautiful taste in the rich, yet greed causing the downfall of overly immoral gluttony, otherwise known as Shinra. There were things that were reminiscent of that monopolizing business, like the painting of the late President, a name I fail to recall. He was smiling, as if proud, yet showing that slight hint of gluttony, in more ways then one...  
  
His smile devilishly embroidered upon that painting. His eyes were strong, yet exhibiting some other story of vagrancy, but not by residency, but by establishment within his own heart, like he was trapped, trapped within himself, and forgotten. The border was ostentatious, beautifully conceived in gold and silver; twisted together like ripples of water, touching each other in harmony: yet not becoming heterogeneous, like white and black.  
  
Next to that painting, is the much younger president, his son. I could remember him only once, only watching him follow directly in the imprisoned man's direction of leadership, and only to fall by his own creation; just like his father. I'd usually think about it, slant my head, and whisper, How sad. Then listen to the echoes of my voice, creating a copious crescendo of voices. All whispering in unison, how sad.  
  
I'd simply think to myself. Truly, that was an understatement. I would occasionally forget the word 'huge.'  
  
The bright light of that continuance of luminosity and fire would then usually get my attention, bringing me back here. To where I first spoke. By how? Haste and legs, of course! Why? To start my day early, for I always woke to see that morning, and every other morning that followed.  
  
I had come to love the morning, as well as the night. Only to smile at it, while blissfully touching the passing breeze of every fateful morn, only to again feel that chill, once again giving that sense of relief...  
  
Yet, that sweetness and enjoyment would soon diminish throughout the day, only to put me back in my home. But, that moment is the moment I would have to work for, time doesn't flow as easily for the children that would play outside, within the long streets, either in rubble, or just newly rebuilt.  
  
I lived for those children, and someday die for them too. It wasn't a sad thought for me, to be remembered by those little men and women of Midgar, to be remembered. That thought was worth living, the only reason for living. Except that beautiful morning, and that starry night.  
  
Starry night... The city could be so dark, so empty, so silent. Not now of course. It was filled with men once of past riches, and of once meager salaries. Yet, no one was a pauper, as hard as it was to believe. Even the once snooty nobles of Midgar could only be thought as gentlemen, according to its definition. 'A man of independent means who does not engage in any occupation or profession for gain.' Yes, that could describe almost every man that lived in this city. They were charitable.  
  
They believed in community, and so far, I could only see it working. But, it was strange, perhaps even to a higher degree, eerie. How could such kindness exist? In such a once distasteful city, how could such a reform occur?  
  
Everyone in the city could answer that, dolefully. Only remembering the past so accurately, remembering what they were. Blithe and zealous in their own distorted way of life, not caring for anybody but themselves, even in the slums, but mostly in the rich sectors of Midgar-the ones that don't exist anymore.  
  
Foreigners would commonly approach citizens with such interest. Either creating another smile, or causing a laugh, or giggle. Still, compliments no matter how great or small, could rebuild the city, they learned that on the day of Meteor. They learnt it.  
  
They remembered it.  
  
The prostitutes, the paupers, the children, their fathers, the mothers, and the brothers; all their hearts came together. Not like destroyed buildings, whose support no longer exist. They became a bastion, a one person.  
  
All working together, rebuilding their home, the only home for them. Each one, either with a hammer; working determinedly on their own shelter, or someone else's. All awake to feel that glorious breeze one more day, either swirling through their shirts, or against their peaceful smiles.  
  
Just like me. Easily satiable, by that cold, but warm wind, gently passing by, spreading it's delightful appeasement to the contiguous. Blowing anything, and everything into some joyous rhythmic beat, not by sound, but by emotion.  
  
It was appreciation, manifest and proudly displayed. Something quite rare in the once existent Midgar. It was hope in its brightest appearance. Not by works, but by personality. There was no more pain, by words or of hunger.  
  
Just happiness, at least for now.  
  
Sometimes I'd wonder upon that gleeful breeze, would this last? Would a city ravaged by guilt and destruction have the same mentality years from now? I'd usually think it, over the city, on this rooftop that I sit before now. I was watching my friends, my home eagerly go on, time never stopping for them, and them never stopping for time. And yet again, that breeze did come by...only slightly pushing, reassuring me to not worry...  
  
We cannot change the future.  
  
Only make the here and now, worthwhile...  
  
She'd usually say that, as I'd wonder, or ask the question to that answer. The brunette strands, much longer now, lengthy and beautifully youthful, would do this swift and swirl movement. Like the morn' breeze, she'd just appear by my side, to only grip my hand and say that song, without even singing.   
  
I love you, my Valentine. Don't forget it. That was her greeting every morning, just a few moments after that breeze... Please Vince, don't ever forget. She'd ask that of me, constantly, aggravatingly. Like every 'I promise,' wasn't believable. Like I had lied to her, and again, and again. She knew I wouldn't, but she wouldn't except that, nor would she except anything else. There was no comforting her, she was the only worried person in Midgar.  
  
She was never without worry, and I loved her for it. Another way to show me her love, I supposed. She'd sequentially kiss me after the two sentences of apprehension, then put her arms around me. So softly, so small. I'd turn to hug her, the smell of the monster infested plains would rise in my nose. The smell of speed, fast and furious speed would arise from the silky hair, only to be touched by my metal claw.  
  
Just always remember that I love you, okay? Is that hard, Vince? I'd comfort her to the limit of comfort. Something I could only leave to what you're imagination. As I'd let her go, it was those eyes, those eyes of brown nectar that only wanted me to hold her again, on that rooftop, looking onwards to the future, feeling that passing breeze.  
  
You remember that I love you, too. The sun and the moon could only relate, in incessant harmony. Each one, complimenting each other's territory of firmament, in a constant relationship, only to be thought of as love. Except, she was the sun, I was the moon. She was the dominant reason for breathing, for she was my breath.  
  
She and Midgar, both queens of my heart.  
  
Princesses of my soul.  
  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
"I will always remember," her voice fell silent in that stillness only to be known as she fell back to that place, where she came. Heaven opened its arms for her, as I screamed in utter agony.   
  
"Don't leave me! Please, don't leave me!!" But her eyes rolled back, as she exhaled her last breath. "Yuffie! Oh no! Yuffie!!" Those eye's dim brown light died within my arms, grabbing her so hard, sobbing so much.  
  
"Come back, please come back." I was whimpering, the plains had already echoed my roar for return, but there wasn't any.  
  
She wasn't coming back. 


	2. One

Chapter One  
  
Sweet lips, like chocolate they were, so soft and gentle. Lusciously filled with the taste of nectar, similar to those eyes I adored so much. They purged my body with that silent feeling of peace, once more letting me realize that truth, the only truth.  
  
That I loved her.   
  
No one could take us apart, in death or by distance. We'd always remain truthful, wholly dependent on one another-never to let infidelity's hold take grasp. I would let it happen, like it was possible, but she did. Not by a man, sadly not by a man.  
  
But by death.  
  
Yes...Death. That word, that pestilence. She had no other choice but to go, and leave me behind. Holding her body, screaming for one more breath.  
  
But there was none, only that loud, terrorizing silence. So loud, so strong. I could not sustain the pain that the silence brought. So I filled the silence with noise...  
  
Screams upon screams, roars upon roars. The city watched me mourn in prolonged sorrow, for I never left that moment of lamentation.  
  
For Despair is what she had left me.  
  
____  
Ù  
  
She left the rooftop, leaping straight down with ease, as if a cat. She was like one, so small, yet so strong in her legs, for more than one obvious purpose. She was a jumper, and once a very frequent runner. Her days of thievery have been over for months now, she was kind, yet not so energetic as the past would only wish to not recall. She was a calm women, something had changed within her, she hadn't told me about. I could see that more manifestly.   
  
She was aplomb in all things, except in me. Quiet but quite a conversationalist, she was the only women to intrigue me so. And now that she had given her past life away, denounced her past as a ninja, only to be with me. She was a lover, the lover of my soul. All that could be said in an instant by her consistent pronunciations of love, always looming around, as if like a hunter.  
  
Similarly, they were her arrows, the ammunition of her rifle. She would say that, over and over again, 'I love you, Valentine.' Love, I jumped to that sound! Sweet and simple, unabridged and belated.   
  
Yes, belated. Why do I say that? She loved me before we even really knew each other. That was the sad thing. She knew my love for her could last for an eternity, yet she wanted to wait. For what? I wish I knew, but past interactions with women could only help me so far, so I decided to wait. Wait because of what? I didn't know, perhaps because of her uncertainty, whatever that you could think of, every problem and obstacle...from my past love to the previous universally threatening force, obstacle upon obstacle; impediment causing more anger, frustration and every little thorn that lied upon that rose of happiness.  
  
Every little obstruction, preventing us to even consider us. Yes, we loved each other, but that is besides the point, that main acme of lovers was only if destiny allowed it so, which afterwards permitted very transparently.   
  
I had decided to help rebuild that lost city, once deranged and cruel. Where children would die by street corners and men and women would raise their child in riches, only to become what their past generation was, haughtiness personified. To laugh at a table, with the gut of a ocean, and speaking of the devilries he had once done.   
  
I was disgusted at the thought of Midgar destroyed. Would it be just chaos? Politically and physically? Or would there even be any remaining citizens, still loyal to their home, wrecked and forever scarred? Those two thoughts, both covered by the negativity of my reluctance to change.  
  
That was another encumbrance to me, change. Things change, I know that, but accepting it was never my strengthened aspect of life. Lucrecia was my past, Yuffie was my change, my permanent change. Yes, I forgot of Lucrecia, my past life, my once beloved.  
  
Now, only to be thought of as the original past. Now, Yuffie was the beginning of my future, she wasn't a lascivious fluke, or even somewhat licentious. She was an undeviating aspect of my life, even if slightly considered harmonious or congruous, she had to fit within that last vacant puzzle piece. It would be then that I would find and eternally contain that peace within existence. That complete love embodied within that person, and with the other. I was that person.  
  
The other was Yuffie.  
  
From the cognizant choices I had once made, they had all changed the vivacity of my life, and what was left of it. Yet, she was the citadel of my vivacious future, lead by her, triumphantly marching onward, leading the many people that I could be. The parade of personality, both naive and erudite; a varied many, molding the heart of a vampire.  
  
She pared me into the man that I am now, not entirely disparate, but enough for her satisfaction, no, her enjoyment. She'd love me no matter what, just as I had loved her viraginous nature. So ardent, so sensationalistic, it was an impossibility for me not to love her!   
  
She was my total opposite, which in turn created a volatile nature within my dead heart. Care once had existed there; yet died with time. Something that dare not wish to recall upon, my disastrous past. I could never do as such, shame her to the point of rejection. In fear that she would? Verily, for the truth would set her free.  
  
Free to close that rose, shutting me out, and release those thorns.  
  
I would never tell her, those mountains knew, so did those plains of green. The breeze knew, pushing me that morning to just tell her one more understandable, but lurid clandestinity. Would she be reasonable? Or incomprehensible? I would occasionally promise myself when thought; I'd tell her someday.  
  
I would repeat that sentence, but the bold word would always stand before the neighboring words, stating proud, but threateningly its being. Someday, is that wrong? I wouldn't tell her immediately, something that I have been wary of because of my past cognizance.  
  
Best I'd leave it as that, 'someday.' It didn't sound as wrong as it once did. For I have been holding this truth for so long, it has become a common instinct. Holding truth, that is. Until that one moment where she would beg. Pleading with me for an answer, for the actual truth.  
  
Would I hold it then?  
  
Only time could tell.  
  
_______________________________________________________________  
  
With that jump from the rooftop, only reminding me of that past she could only wish to forget, she bid me goodbye. Just to that field of endless pleasure, that plain of green, that could spread until the end of infinity. She was like those cougars, running with strategy and a weapon, no longer the arrow of the Ninja, but the Arrow. A rifle that had lost its simplicity with the touch of a mechanic. It was once my gun, my treasure, only to become the property of my lover.  
  
Which she was very fond of.   
  
She was so proud of it, to the silver gleam, to the preciseness of its fire. It was a light machine, contrasted to the previous weapon of obligation. She enjoyed it, usually patrolling the other side of Midgar, light on the amount of the cannibals, children could only refer to them as.  
  
Sephiroth's henchmen, the locust of wheat; these names were among the most trite. It would be usually heard in midst of a crowd, either gathering for rations or Midgarian Council. Midgarian council was the gaudily named meetings of Midgar, primarily to discuss rebuilding methods and plans, other use would change over time. They'd be even more extravagantly assembled when these occasions arrived, only to then strike. It was very rare to find anyone dead, though it did happen.  
  
It would be religiously exemplified like this: the child (in most cases) would lie by the monster, eaten slowly by that snarling beast, only to have the father shooting it dead, or leaving like a lone wolf, only to die another day.  
  
The mother would run to the child's aid, believing to be still alive; finding the cold body, eyes still opened while the chest had already been pilfered, disturbingly quick and hollow. The depression that lied within that chest would only be accepted by the father, fatal.  
  
"May the god that be within the firmaments that could only be hallow! Don't take my child!" She was screaming, panting, as if running for miles for something so valued, so powerfully important to her life, only to find it gone. To find it destroyed.  
  
To find it...dead.   
  
The sight of blood would signify that; I'd cringe at the sight. The mother, now weeping, holding the child's face ever so tight. Her mouth had been open for such long periods of time, as if trying to breathe, only to realize; there was no longer any purpose to do so.  
  
The father, trying to persuade her to let go. But she wouldn't; She couldn't. I was so relevantly distraught, for them, and as in the future, for my lover.   
  
As the citizens, watching in horror at that picture. Only to call there children hither, both plebian and noble; while I'd stand and watch the children come close to the mothers of Midgar, while some other children would remain absent, until found by a gentlemen in a horrendous state.  
  
Or by even more horrid beasts, wanting a meal of flesh, either putrid or still palatable.   
  
Yet, I sadly most admit, I can be much worse. Like the few nights before this one, a night that Midgar would never forget. The construction and deconstruction of the towering levels, establishing the difference of the slums, and the plate was scheduled to be destroyed. This architectural achievement would be taken apart, only to expand outward, rather than grow upward.  
  
It was a celebration, the town could only think of it as that. The finest wines to the cheapest dews of alcohol were ordered, even the guards were drunk.   
  
Yuffie could only think of protecting the drunkards generously, obligating me to assist...  
  
"I just don't get this. Why do this now? When these demons are so desirable for blood? Is there any sense in that?!" She'd explode with that pestering topic on mind. Their actions were detestable, I could only agree.  
  
"What about the children? What about them?" That question would rotate itself around her words, always breaking that silence of the night with: 'what about the children?'  
  
She was the bringer of death, holding the grip of that gun so tight. The moonlight was the only source of light, her only aid. The gun reflected that light like a mirror, hence, the reason of bestowing it to her.  
  
That green overcoat, covering the silky material that she wore as a skirt; long and versatile, perfectly adapted for her continuous movement, fast and slow. The moon would only glisten in two things, the gun, and the round blue stone she wore around her neck. Always glowing a different color than what originally colored, but only when the intensity of the moment would have a sudden change. It was glowing a bright red now, only to be reflected by the pistol.  
  
She saw it; calmly moving her index finger to the trigger, pulling it up with speed, not haste. I looked to her face, releasing the hold of my gun; her eyes darted back to me, wondering.  
  
It was that look, the look of understanding. Only she could see what I had seen.  
  
I see it.  
  
Then bang, two shots. I jumped with that agility only the young could possess, reaching for her hand. There they were. She gave me her hand as I gripped it tightly. She curled herself within the pit of my chest, legs dangling within the air's bewilderment. Bewildered air? Only I could fool such an element. The bullets target had been acquired, but not killed, she knew that much. What she had not known was of the speed of the locomotive that was panting from behind her at an atrociously disastrous speed.  
  
The walls that stood close together in that alley were my only means of staying airborne, by jumping of one, onto another. Flipping with that acrobatic skill onto the next jump, while still airborne.  
  
She had known of this ability, but hadn't gotten use to the jerking of each twist I'd make. I quickly sheathed my one rifle that I had grown accustomed to, while attempting to hold her with more force, I failed.  
  
She plummeted down like that destructive force Midgar could only hope to heal after, but the outcome of that fall would not even happen. For I jumped downward to grab her, still trusting me, and yes, very much gracious. I grabbed her hand, pulling her up flippantly unintentionally. I was like that squirrel that she'd watch ever morn, while I'd wait for that cold morning breeze, excessively jumping rooftop to rooftop, while she'd watch while each plaudit would follow every trick. No one was clapping for me.  
  
I reached my last barrier of bricks, pushing myself off it, towards the nearest window. She saw my next move, retrieved her cased pistol, and shot the window five times. The wind that followed the swift jump shattered the glass before my entering, as she let go, landing with ease.  
  
She amazed me. For my landing was harsh, for momentum still followed me, causing the huge crash between plaster walls. The few seconds, I lost my awareness from the severity of the impact. She laughed at my position, helping me to regain thought.  
  
"How did you know? How do you always know!" Her demands would be replied with an austere explanation, and smile. "That simple, huh?" Yet my chance to answer was replaced with the scream of a child.  
  
It was high, at the climatic height of a child's voice, otherwise clearly caused by fear.  
  
She didn't respond-there wasn't a chance to do so anyway. Her mind could only think of how to get there before the most horrid outcome might occur. She ran, with the momentum of the mountain cougar, jumping straight out from the window, only to land by a simple spin of gravity. Otherwise recalled by the ninja of Yuffie, still able and quick.  
  
I regained my posture within the moment of noticing movement on Yuffie's part. She would inevitably need me, either to save her once more, or to comfort her when all could seem lost. We jumped in unison, like the birds taking flight, only she was that dove, white and without iniquity. Instead I was that hawk, full of wisdom, yet past so mysteriously shrouded that men could only see me as the demon of night.  
  
I jumped with that speed once more, only to use the helm of my gun to grab the windowsill while flying within air's grasp. I slid down this time, only to see her agility outweigh my own. She was already at the corner. I jumped into that road, were the two attackers lied dead. Whimpering, as I shot it once more, now dead.  
  
I ran as fast as my legs would permit, down the alley, around that blind corner, only to see her aiming, both hands on the gun's handle.  
  
She said something, small but perceptible by my ears. Fire-three.   
  
I watched in awe as the huge blast of fire exploded from the pistol's barrel. Before it lied a little girl, while a hog, an enormous hog only to be classified as monster, his teeth were covered with that unwanted color, red.  
  
The bullet was a bombardment of flames, only eating at the corruption that could only have the heart to do such cruelty; something desperately trying to survive, only now to see its last meal.   
  
It had disintegrated within that flame, that flame of fate. Her bullet was the only relief she could feel in that moment, that instant of sheer realization of abhorrent destiny; the destiny of a child, the end of a babe.  
  
She cried for days, whenever referring to or even suggesting that loathsome night. She'd lie with me, crying in that chair where I'd sit in the home I had acquired. She couldn't sustain herself, only relying upon my comfort, where as I always there.  
  
"I would have died for her... I could have been there..." Her statements always hinted at that desired reply, the sobs and sniffles followed by the embracing that could kill a man, emphasized on it. The tragedy of one, befell upon another. Only left me wishing for something... Something that wouldn't last...  
  
For nothing ever does...  
  
_________________________________________________________________  
  
"Yuffie!!!" Those mountains still rang the same voice, and those sobs as I drowned in my own tears. "How could you do this to me!!"  
  
Yet no answer, only those sobs, followed by even louder sobs that the plains would echo in ever slope, in ever crevice. Only to prove my plot even more real.  
  
The grass blew back and forth as everything turned to gray, leaving me to die with the aching desire for my lover.  
  
Now only a corpse among the cold morning breeze. 


	3. Two

Chapter Two  
  
That face she wore, burned in my mind, like a carving of stone-never to change. She died, and killed something that I couldn't live without. My life could only be filled with this ubiquitous hatred for life; for the love of my soul, that half of Vincent, died.  
  
"Why?" I cried, the voice of a maimed heart echoed throughout Midgar, to the ends of the Planet. The world lost all limits, all purpose. Death was caught in it's filiopiestic act - that horrid tradition of ending life to someone I held so dear. Not like those children, to which I could pity the maternal women that curled to the sight.  
  
No, it was my love, my desired love, my inamorata, now dead and silent; hair still flinging with solemnity, back and forth. They were like the spider's web, each strand of it, torn by that cold morn' breeze.  
  
The amorous love that could only gratify my own heart, whose own interests indulged within my own, my true lover, now dead. Whispers upon whispers, words upon words, the wind spoke the truth within my ear. Words of comfort, that didn't comfort, to pamper my sorrowful heart, yet not making any difference.  
  
She left me, only to die by loneliness, bitterly.  
  
___  
Ù  
  
The mantle of that sky, so clouded and devoid of sunlight had seemingly halted construction and deconstruction. It wasn't bizarre to stop work for a cloudy day, since that was their drive, to see another cloudless sky with that blaze of light, traditionally rising and falling to their work. The morn' symbolized work, which today it was a glorious one, but that soon disappeared with the sudden embargo between two significant partners. The sun would give sunlight, and the planet would returning in trade a harmonious day. Yet, the sun, in its lethargy simply decided, and declined; like a child, seeing the sunrise, only to grumble, and smother himself gently with that propping pillar, assisting slumber, softly.  
  
The men had begun to commute about that sky, disdainfully; some praised the sun, promising compensation for its coincidental laze. I watched from afar, still waiting for that breeze of a cold morn', yet it didn't come. I stayed there, waiting for that wind, yet it never blew that gust of reality my way.   
  
Something else would.  
  
The only comfort that existed now was knowledge, knowing of her existence. I relinquished my last stance of relief, and rose to my feet. The cloak made that sound of falling clothing, but being held in place, like drapes. It was recently given to me by that 'puppet,' that manipulated salvation, the Cloud.  
  
The idolized warrior, the man of many lies, taken into truth. It was he that gave this cloak to me, as a gift. For what? For my company, I presume, for helping them to protect what they loved so much, especially that Tifa. That gorgeous woman, whose fist was forever legendary, but they weren't the same people. None of us were. The world could only think of us as warriors, defenders of this planet. Intermixed with Pain and Joy, such varied emotions that could make a villain, and create a Cloud; to let the heartless live, and to kill a now dead, last child of a people, which are again extinct. That range between death and life, good and evil is worth dying for.  
  
But not worthy to be commended.   
  
They all agreed on that, the unworthiness. For we, a band of terrorists did this not just for good, but for the evil. We had said things that night, after the saving grace of Lifestream, all we could do was stand, and speak.  
  
Barret, yes that old Midgarian; he still lives here, I routinely see him in the streets with his daughter following close behind.  
  
"We did it, y'all! We gone an dunnit!" He had said, so joyously. That speech of his was, indeed, rather curious, and annoying at times. It was as if he hated the common language, only to ridicule it with his own mispronunciation of its words.  
  
"Yes, sir. We finally did it. The Planet's safe, and ev'rbody knows it." Cid agreed. "The heroes can go home."  
  
"Not all of us..."Tifa said. We all knew of what she was speaking of. That young woman, whose past could be ranked with Cloud and Tifa's to be the most sad. Such twists had become known of her beginnings, after the clipping of her wings. She was the daughter of Gast and Iflana, killed by Hojo and his henchmen. Her lover, died to that same blade, that blade whose existence lies within the bowels of our minds. She died, only to be reunited with them all, that last Cetra, the child of Ancient.  
  
"...We have to stop thinkin 'bout it, Tifa." He reply with that solemn voice, giving reverence to the dead, wishing such things hadn't been so...dismal. It wasn't dire, for exciting wasn't what this was. That red jackal had whimpered over those nights in that city of Ancients, everyone did, unusually Yuffie. She had never released tears of mourning, let alone tears at all. She sobbed there, continuously saying, "Why?"   
  
I didn't sleep that night, nor did I want to. I went to pay my respects to that place where she sank into the blue bottom, that place where she could find peace, underneath it all. I was only acquainted with Aeris, never truly knowing of the kindness she had, radiating her charitable heart.  
  
But, I knew her before.  
  
A past to not recall, a past she and I had once buried under the dirt of forgetfulness. That secret, never to be remembered was of a younger time...  
  
I will speak of it one day, but not now.  
She was there, dreaming a sleep no man would disturb. But I wished to say goodbye once more, seeing her face. That was the ostensible reason for the plunge, only to see her one more time. Swimming vigorously through the lake's most common attribute, water.  
  
The moon gleamed through the water, giving light to where it was much needed. The heart of the lake was quiet, the wind didn't rustle the waters, just the gravity the planet held. It was a serenade of silence, favorable and scenic for the moment.  
  
It was then that I saw the bottom, even more so, felt it. The face was wearing that smile her father had loved ever since birth. Within those moments of the past, I felt that hand of generosity once more, just as she did before. It was this way when locating the body, eyes closed, hair still flowing with the current, back and forth; like Yuffie's hair within that cold morn' breeze...  
  
I retrieved something I had held for many years, something she could only remember. A simple locket, a locket that her parents wished to give when of age. I knew of the extremity this belated gift of the parents, especially Iflana.   
  
'So she'd never forget...'  
  
Her face reminded me of her so much, I left a tear with her in that lake of eternal rest. That blue water made no distinguishing mark of the tear even existing, but it was there, she knew it too. She was the scrupulous maiden, that child, that little girl; always remaining in the hearts of all who met her.  
  
Cloud's face could explain that clearly, telling of a certain love they had shared, not so easily found. "She'd be proud..."  
  
I was standing besides that old pilot, smiling, think of that baby, so lovely and beautiful. The pulchritude that she had once displayed, and the comeliness she will forever hold. I'd chuckle to the thought, sincerely thinking of her flying once more in joy, never to look down.  
  
To just continue smiling...  
  
"That she would. We did this for her..."I replied, the silence didn't follow though.  
  
"We did this for everyone, Vincent, including ourselves. We can't say we did this for one woman, for vengeance." Red XIII said, the tame beast stood sat upon the metal floor, porous and cold. The cockpit had that stale air again, crew still working at the controls but not as serious or tense anymore, trying to overhear the conversation.   
  
Yuffie just stood there, so did everyone else, either against something or sitting, neither happy or sad, just empty of emotion, or concentrated only on one.  
  
The emotion was regret in its most beautiful form, each member contributing to that silence with calm regret, a silent rue.  
"Can we?" Cait Sith questioned, the cat holding himself upon his puppetry. He fooled us all, yet we kept him. The puppet was something only Cloud could relate, everyone would sadly agree.  
  
"She wouldn't want us to... We can't. What would that make people think?" Yuffie's voice was a somber voice to everyone; the crew, the Avalanche, herself. They all could just nod to her decision, her juncture between a girl to a woman.  
  
Tifa noticed the change, too.  
  
"Just accept anything they give us...but don't forget about Aeris, okay?"  
  
"Promise?" Her voice faltered to the sudden shift in the air, looking towards the main window, only to see a destroyed Midgar. "They can't handle the truth right now, sometimes the truth isn't good."  
  
"What will we say then? They already know who stopped Meteor, we can't just hide--we don't want to." Cloud questioned with a serious tone. Never looking at Midgar through that screen of glass, only at her. Tifa had already left the conversation, only holding her hands to her bosom, pushing her hands together, curled as if in prayer. Then came the tear of remorse, then a hand to wipe it away, hiding the pain of death, the destruction one man had done.  
  
For her home? No. For her people? No. For life? Yes, and hated the man who almost obliterating it's definition. "Just tell them what they want." She turned around from the blazing fire, like a premonition of more pain. She looked in Cloud's eyes once more with an answer, truly honorable, yet reminding.  
  
"It's not about us anymore. Unworthy or worthy, they are human, just like all of us..."  
  
Barret began to smile at a thought, a saving grace, how sweet a sound. Like a juice, a mixture of heavenly dew intermixed with the delights that this world could offer, and generously given, yet refused by a young woman, whose mind could very yet outrange my own...  
  
"She woulda wanted it. Lets give 'em what they want."  
  
For Marlene, for humanity's sake, he'd occasionally think. How do I know? He would tell me, in that place of Midgar where the sun would shine the brightest- far away from that cold morn' breeze, for reality was something he wasn't dotingly loving of. He only loved that fantasy life, with his daughter growing without the worries of poverty, or nobility. No range between standards or blood, for they all were the same, worthy or unworthy, for they all are just human...  
  
Like me.  
  
Like everyone else who walked this land, we are the bane of Subsistence; a simple parasite. We cause the infection of hate, of dismay, and destruction. Yet, we bring such wonders to the Planet, for the Planet is us. From the highest butte, to the lowest plains that this world has; it has been touched by humanity, with that cold morn' breeze following them. Causing wars, and keeping peace, the breeze that I'd feel each morn', the breeze that the people of a destroyed city would turn to greet was that unpretentious breeze. The shifting wind of the Planet, telling us, reminding us, pushing us to continue on.  
  
That is what the breeze did that day; the day of Meteor. That first push was that colossal mountain falling to break the union the planet had with its people, that single thread of fate only needed to be touched for chaos.  
  
Sephiroth exaggerated this, bringing the damnation of Space to the Planet once more. He wished to summon a beast whose intent was to kill him included, but he failed. That breeze still blew within the hearts of Avalanche, within the midst of a Cloud.  
  
Only to push the Clouds once more...  
  
Barret would speak to me on days like this, telling me of his life before this peace, discreet sometimes, other times very elaborate. They would be of his wife, his old town, his best friend whose reputation with the group could only be thought of as insane.  
  
"It be like this day. The coal would be our life, not hurtin' anybody. Eleanor, Marlene... They'd be waiting for us...me and Dyne, while we work." The pause he'd take was because of the pain, the hurt of remembering. That porch, that wood porch, where Barret would usually sit, these days. Like the men of old, veterans and grandfathers, people who've seen the world, only to now dream of it while that breeze would come by It would push the porch-roof, letting the small noise awaken the elder again; he'd wake to this noise, as if clamor. He would look around from habit, and try to fall back into that dream, only to feel the cold morn' breeze, and smile.  
  
"They'd be waitin' for us, by the porch-just like this. She'd was my life, her, and Marlene. They were the ones keepin' me goin'. And she's what keeps me goin' now." Not perpetually, but intermittently because one day, that young child would die, for everything must end, but when she does, he will to. It would be then, in the splendor of death, that he would be, everlastingly pleased. For he would be reunited with his love, forever.  
  
But now, he would only limit himself to that chair, still smiling to his daughter and to all of Midgar, but I knew of his unhappiness with life, only to wish him something better. But that was all I could do, wish.  
  
That was what I'd do every morn', when sojourned to my home. I'd stand by those windows, beyond that glass chandler whose reflection of light could eradicate the shadows of where light couldn't usually reach. I would occasionally cover those arduously designed minimized mirrors with a sheet, apparently once drapery. And while I'd think of the miserable loneliness one could feel, Yuffie would be there to hint of her belonging, to me.  
  
But for how long? I'd ask the sun and the moon. Day and Night, to last night, to the very present place I now stand upon. What does the future hold for me? What benediction, or curse had that cold morn' breeze wished upon me? The gloam of the stars would give me no assistance, nor would the clouds give me any shade or gossip. We cannot change the future. Only make the here and now, worthwhile... Those words would repeat within my mind, incessantly, but soothingly.  
  
They were cacophonies, my thoughts of a desirable future. They were inveterate occurrences within my mind, constantly attacking at the predicted time because of habitual confrontation. Chronic- that is the word, repeating in thought, never ceasing, always causing the emotion Yuffie had come to understand.  
  
Worry.  
  
I would bask in worry every morn', for a vast amount of reasons. For Yuffie, for Barret, for Midgar...all these things kept such a tight grip on my mind, to the very point of momentary insanity, but I believed in that wind, the breeze of the cold morn' to push me onward, continuing into life, yet only to have me fall with grief.  
  
For my worry was the least of things.  
  
______________________  
  
  
"Mr. Valentine!" The voice could be heard from the rooftop, how had they known were to find me? It was masculine but small, and vaguely familiar... Castolf, the youngest member of my Prevention Squad, about seventeen. I walked to the side of the rooftop, which belonged to Yuffie, for it was Yuffie's home. The sunlight was still bright that morn', with clouds walking over the horizon, and some already over it.  
  
"Castolf, Good Morning to you." I said naturally, but his voice was very quaint, as if something was wrong. His brown eyes told me something cryptic, for he was afraid to even mention the problem. He was looking up from the stone street that could go on for miles, smiling unconvincingly. The slightly velvet cape, padded with a fabric no arrow could penetrate, whipped to the side as the wind pushed by. A strong smell of shock came with it, causing that horrid fear again.  
  
Worry.  
  
"Good Mornin, to ya sir. How've you been?" He said softly, only to the affects of the wind. I couldn't understand him, and attempted to jump down, I did, landing on both boots. He moved to the side, as if fearful, but I assured him. "I won't jump on you." He laughed with that hint of fake enjoyment, something was definitely amiss. I came closer to him, hair now blowing wildly in that fragrance the wind carried.  
  
The street was now noticeably bare, no construction crew for a cloudy sky, and no children out so early. Only the passing leaves of fall, miscellaneously scattered with different shades of leaves. Some piles of leaves next to houses, while a rake lied beside the pile.  
  
It was a cold morn, ever since that last sally of wind, and Castolf wore a tunic of black and brown; a coarse material not meant to bring much warmth. "Why would you jump on me, Sir? I didn't think you would anyway!"  
  
"...Okay. You've made this too obvious." His face suddenly changed, giving me the answer I wasn't so sure of. "What's too obvious? There's nothing wrong!"  
  
"Really?" I questioned sarcastically, finding the slight humor, and smiling to it. "Yes! Really!"  
  
"Then why are your eyes twitching? And you're gripping your hands really tight. Something is wrong, so just tell me. I won't kill you." He didn't find that assuring, I'm sure. But, he didn't answer, just continued to persuade me into believing everything was fine, but it wasn't.  
  
"Just tell me, Castolf. If you don't, I'll just find out anyway." His eyes were suddenly serious, and again, afraid. "...something's wrong. Wrong with the neighboring cities... They've put a halt on trading, and some of the roads are blocked. Kalm, Mideel, and I've just heard about an invasion in the Cosmo Canyon." His voice was shaking now, breathing slowly, as if trying to remain calm.   
  
What was happening? "There's going to be a meeting tonight, and they want you to attend."  
  
"Wait, wait. This is going to fast. Are you trying to tell me we are going to war? This might be a rumor, don't worry about it. People are quick to start gossip, don't worry about it. I'm not."  
  
Silence, and fear was what Castolf was feeling and doing. "Is that all?" Another outburst of wind again. "No. It isn't, Sir." Now it was utterly quiet.  
  
"Then what, Castolf? What is wrong?" He stepped back, and shifted his body to the left, then to the right. "I'm really sorry. She didn't see them coming. I really tried to stop her, but she went anyway. Please believe me, I tried to help, but the monsters, and the soldiers were to strong...even for her." I didn't understand at first why he had told me this, but then I thought...  
  
"Is this about Yuffie, Castolf?" We cannot change the future. Only make the here, and now worthwhile...  
  
"Vincent, I tried so hard, I tried so hard..." Water glistened within the lashes of his eyes, never dropping, just showing me how serious he truly was. My heart needed conformation, you cannot hint of death. I grabbed him by the shoulders, tightly gripped.   
  
"Stay with me, Castolf! Is this about Yuffie?!" It came out like a roar of lions, now I see his reluctance to tell me. He was crying now, sobbing like the children that would occasionally scrap their knees. "Yes! It's Yuffie! They killed her, with Sheryl and Marlene!! Yuffie tried to protect them! But the monsters were helping the soldiers!"  
  
"Where!? Where are they? Are any alive?" Tears were now forming in my own. Only make the here, and now worthwhile. She isn't dead, that can't be. But I had never seen him cry before. Sheryl was his sister, he would find anything like this humorous, not death.  
  
The tears finally dropped from the lashes, down on his face. The sun made that evident, as the last ray of serenity fell upon me, leaving me alone, shaded under those clouds with that cold morn' breeze still passing by.   
  
"Outside of Midgar, I don't know how they left, or why." Stop sobbing, please just stop sobbing. I continued to think that, trying to hold my own brokenness within myself.  
  
I pushed him aside as he screamed for forgiveness, as if he did something wrong. "Oh please!! Please forgive me! I tried to get there as fast as possible!" Marlene? Marlene, Barret's daughter? It couldn't be, not her; this can't be happening. "Vincent! Please!"  
  
We cannot change the future. Only make the here, and now worthwhile.  
  
"Stop it! You didn't do anything, stop asking me for something I can't do!" I started to run, like the panther that resided where we found Yuffie. So strong and swift, covered within that black fur, giving them the camouflage of night. But I had no camouflage, no illusion to hold the pain I was suddenly given. So many questions piled themselves, like the leaves that stood next to most houses, incomplete and scattered. Just like my heart.  
  
An eruption of anger, a surge of bitterly composed thoughts came through my mind, my heart. I was giving roars after roars within ever crevice, rift, and puncture my heart had. Assiduous dissonance had plagued my very voice, for I was yelling words of unspeakable meaning. Words of grief, of pain in its most solid form. They were words that death could only cause.  
  
The stones of the road would change colors, as if to the urgency of this day. To gray, then to brown, then to numerous coloration of miscellaneous characteristics. I was running on the rain of tears that fell from my eyes, creating a bow of color.  
  
It was the distortion of heart, a caustic mixture of anger and concern, of questions and presumed answers. I was dying within myself.  
As I made my last turn to the great gate of Midgar, that was now closed. I saw nothing that lied beside it, but a primitive watching post. And besides that vigil of security was three men, who had noticed my arrival and face. The stone road was gray now, as if depicting what lied beyond those gates...  
  
My Nightmare. 


	4. Three: Part One of Three

~Chapter Three~  
Part One  
  
He stood there like the lone warrior I had met long ago, standing with the stature of wise men, as if knowing of the pain this world had put restraint upon. But then the tear of loss fell down from his ever-watchful eyes of omnipotence. It was the supremacy that he wore like clothing that made this moment so quaint, for I cried before him like the child that my kin could only remember...  
  
I was ashamed, for all my efforts could be said within one sentence. A sentence that only signified failure, cold and dry.   
  
I tried.  
  
I tried. Like it wasn't of importance, like some frivolous matter that an infant would scream over. No, I lamented over this! My goddess, my father, my friend, and innocent girl now dwelled within their own form of death.  
  
And all I could do was to cry...  
  
__________________________________   
  
It was strange, of wandering interest that I, in that sensation of boredom began to write. I don't know why I wrote this, but it just revealed itself through the little moments of hearing that clank again. Yes, it was Vincent again. Y'know, the guy I call Valentine. It's the thirtieth time, or maybe it's the thirty-fourth... Whatever, that's beside the point. Well, I guess that's how he greets me (I'll never figure him out...), probably why I love him so:   
  
"The clank of a lover's greeting awoke me that morning, that Valentine of mine. The sound of footsteps, sluggishly walking upon the rooftop could only be from he. Who else would walk freely onto property, and in such an odd fashion? Only him, that dark angel that the gods that watch over me now, bestowed unto me. That lover of mine; only such his smile could be so sweet! The darkness that was, only to be now replaced by the light of a lover's innocence. My heart beats on because of that assuring knowledge, for his essence is eternal".  
  
"Even if I am not."  
  
I don't know, every time I read it over, I stare at my hands. Why? Who the hell knew I could write that! Such eloquent, so beautiful--wait. Oh, no it's okay. Never mind, I just keep on reading it over, and then I think I find something wrong, but it isn't...  
  
Why am I telling you this? Do you even care? Uh! He's still walking up there...  
  
I'll write more in you when I get back, I promise...  
  
The book closed, the pen was carelessly eased onto its leather case. Another clank, then another. "Oh damn," the day has begun. The bed had been her asylum, still thinking of that little girl; suffering from the malediction that guilt placed upon her soul. The malign nature of a beast, still remembering the exuding blood from the chest. She was crying surreptitiously, so Vincent wouldn't know of this torment, not of the bale death could inflict.  
  
Or did he?  
  
She'd wonder how much he had known. She did an astounding act of satisfaction when before him, repeatedly telling him of what she loved, which was he. I love you, my Valentine. All these words of relentless love, totally unabated by the restraints her heart made, were indeed true. But, they were extemporized just to hide the tears by changing the conversation. First the 'I love you' and once to the point of marriage! For when she'd think of that little girl, the joy that Vincent had brought would immediately expiate, but nervousness and timidity would remain.  
  
Only leaving her with the tears, like now.  
  
They were disheveled sometimes, especially after a nightmare. But at this moment, they had exuded because of the misery she constantly felt. The tears that sang her woes thrice, speaking of pain and misery with ever drop, would be her last. She knew that today, for the anguish was too hard to bear.  
  
It was the malentendu of the situation; the mixture of emotion that drove her to tears. It just wasn't her fault, yet every voice she heard, every execration from the parents of that girl, still resided within her mind. Never leaving, only releasing their toxin of guilt.  
  
"My child! My child!! You horrid girl, you left her alone to die!" The woman screamed profanities Vincent winced at, warning her husband to watch her closely. Yuffie, who was the victim of pointless anger would continue to repeat her words of apology.  
  
"She died because of you!" Her voice emphasized on the 'you' with a loud scream, "how could you just let this happen!! She did nothing to deserve this!" Yuffie accepted these accusations with total agreement, never defending herself, only listening.  
  
Now it was the bed for her, and the tears of unremitting sorrow. All previous alacrity disappeared when the child screamed, and only existed in the memories of those who cared. Now the plaster walls heard the screams of the dismal, the wooden floor had now already taste those tears of hurt. This wasn't the Yuffie that Vincent had once knew, for he knew nothing...  
  
For she was an illusion of joy, and the adherent of guilt. Two people, only one reality.  
  
Clank. He was calling her intentionally now, wanting some response or indication. She placed her feet before her, and stood on the bed in that white blue gown of silk; her hair fell with every movement she made, shining the light the window held. She gripped her fist, smiling once more, and stood on that bed. She then hit against the ceiling three times, then jumped straight down on the mattress.  
  
She was smiling, the smile that could only remind you of what she once was. A smile reminiscent of that thief whose joy was contagious, yet it dissolved as the day would continue, only to be replaced by the malfeasances of humankind, and abnormalities only to be known as monsters.  
  
The previous slumber had indeed insisted the opposite affect on Yuffie, actually inflicting weariness; another obstancy, another problem. As she stood, the floor seemed to deepen, to move farther away from her feet, causing her fall to that cool, wood floor. She let out a small cry, fearing the proximate pain of impact, but she caught herself, luckily.  
  
"Whoa..." She let out thankfully, what was wrong? The sensation was of intoxication, as if she had drank. Wait, did she? She couldn't remember, wait... Yes, she did. That would explain the malodor (vaguely of alcohol), and why she lacked depth perception. But when? And where?  
  
I'm sure you know why...  
  
"Oh yes, Sheryl!" She giggled, "the crazy girl." Crazy girl, indeed. She was like Yuffie of the past, so enthusiastic, so friendly and somewhat crafty. She had that thief mentality, something Yuffie could relate to. Sheryl had lived in Midgar since birth, raised in a home whose wealth could buy half of Midgar! She was humorous, but insipient about what the world truly consisted of.  
  
The blonde haired woman, only to the height of Yuffie, was gorgeous. She was actually a member of the Midgarian Council, very responsible, but far too kind to be a politician, or so Yuffie thought. The reason of her drinking was because of her pointless depression, and Sheryl wasn't the person to let something be, chiefly when it was Yuffie.  
  
"Yuffie?" The knocking was as vociferous as she was, but Yuffie tried to ignore it. Don't look under the mat, don't look under the mat. "I found the key, and I'm coming in!" Oh damn it! She was crying again on that bed of white sheets, the plaster walls and the cold wood floor witnessed it, again.  
  
She could hear the footsteps, slowly made on that cold floor, echoing in every corner of the living room. Why, Sheryl!? Why now? Can't I just cry in peace? Such words wouldn't even uttered with her around, they were best kept unspoken, or a look of shock followed by a 'how could you say that' speech would've unstoppably begun. Please Sheryl, don't make me beg! Another footstep, then another, and so on. Then finally, on the tenth step came a halt; Yuffie heard breathing.  
  
"Didn't you hear me knocking?" If only I had been sleeping. "Hello? Are ya still alive? Hello!?" First came that, then a, "Yuffie! I know you're awake, now sit up and stop being a bitch!" Then came the profanity: Is there a god? I mean, what the fuck!? Then the acceptance, oh well...  
  
And a question never to be answered.   
  
...What did I really expect...   
  
"Oh my god, Yuffie. If you think you're sleeping in--again, you are so wrong." Did I forget she was ditzy? A carefree women, who also was insipient, innoxious, and (a not so complex word) dumb. A dumb side that showed quite rarely, but was obviously existent--Yuffie would agree. But that didn't take decrease the level of enjoyment she shared with her, for childish stupidity only lasts for so long (once again, Yuffie would agree).  
  
"Sheryl! Hi! Oh, I'm so sorry! But I..." Of course she was cut off! "Bullshit. Let me repeat--BULLSHIT!" Laughter arose in the room, softly rising, lifting the tension away, disappearing as it touched the limitation of space.  
  
It was then that Sheryl stopped the laughter, and showed genuine concern, for something Yuffie had been trying for weeks to hold in made itself apparent. "Why are you crying?" Oh no!  
  
"Please don't ask, Sheryl. It's too complicated." Why don't I just tell her, she's not going to kill me. "What is that supposed to mean. Hmm? We're friends, you've got to tell me." No answer, just silence. Awkwardness entered as the silence emptied the room of understanding, leaving the tension behind.  
  
"Yuffie, I'll ask again. What's wrong?" Was that seriousness? That was the most eerie sound that Sheryl had ever made. No, it can't be, she's never serious. "I'm serious." Oh god, the world is ending...  
  
Sarcasm to the bitter end...  
  
"Alright. I'll tell you." Yuffie admitted, gripping the covers and throwing them away from her. She jumped onto that floor, feet placed right besides her boots. She was on the side now, looking at her with a reluctant grin, then suddenly inquisitive. "Wait, how did you know something was wrong?"  
  
"Uh! Yuffie! That is the dumbest question ever! Who knows you better than I do! I mean it's been a few months now of endless conversations and total trust! How can I not know?" She sighed sarcastically, while Yuffie gasped with that feminine glance. "What the hell do you mean 'that's the dumbest question ever? How the hell was I supposed to know, I don't know if you're sad or not!"  
  
"--Well, you should. I've told you almost everything about me!" A glance right back; this was a battle of looks, endless sighs, and the common flinging of hair (a girlfriend brawl). Both Sheryl and Yuffie both possessed that lengthy, silky hair; constantly being swung as if slapping each other. They'd take a great offense to every sentence they would make; for both wished for that last word, determining the winner of this 'brawl of hair.'  
  
"Oh god, I'm not listening to this anymore. It's never going to end." Yuffie retorted, giving her final sigh. "Well, then just tell me, so I might just shut up! For both of our sakes!" She wasn't letting her have the last breath. "You know what? I'm taking you out. There is no way you're telling me here."  
  
"Oh, FINE!" Another angry reply, "FINE, let's go." Then another.  
  
Yes, that was the relationship the two held. Not always in useless squabble, or relenting bickering, but it was usual. Vincent had been trying to understand this nature, always wondering, is there any end to this? For they would argue just for pleasure, an odd classification for pleasure, indeed.  
  
Where the two went after that was a pub, but they headed directly to the bar--at least Sheryl did. "Come on, you can tell me over a shot, okay. It'll calm you down!" And in a whisper, she said; "and I really need one anyway."  
  
She told her, Sheryl then pitied her, and told her to get a grip. Sheryl then flirted with the bartender, unconsciously (though Yuffie would insist she was really 'digging' him), and then they went 'wee, wee, wee' all the way home, drunk. (Sheryl brought the bartender, 'John' home--guess what they did.)  
  
It was hard for anyone to understand her pain, it seemed. For it was unusual to feel guilty for something you didn't do. It was her insidious emotions that did this to her, for she felt this for no purpose. Hence the lack of understanding on Sheryl's part.  
  
Clank. She was on her bed now, ready to fall back asleep, but the 'damn' sun still shined brightly through, nearly blinding her. "Oh Vincent!" With that, she climbed to the side of her bed, there a boot, of brown leather sat there. She picked the left boot up, and threw it against the wall.   
  
"I'm coming! Okay! Just give me a second!" Smiling again as the sun still waited. 


	5. Three: Part Two of Three

Chapter Three  
Part Two  
  
The breeze still blew strong as the truth of that morning had become a reality to the three men. The darkness overtook the light, as the warmth was defeated by the cold. Their tears came visible, as the sun fell over that horizon, past the mountains of silver and white; over those trees and plains of green, flowing like the hair of silk into the midnight's twilight.  
  
For no bond existed between day and night, just a insapory battle of dominion. For when that sun rose, it did fall. And when it had fallen, the night of twilight made the invocation of evil with the end of all things...   
  
...And with that, the sun did not rise again.  
  
____________________  
  
The stone road was reaching its end, and its last variation of color as I looked to see the great gate. The two buildings that stood besides me was that church of cherubic beliefs, the church of the flower girl. Yes, the flower girl of pulchritudinous beatitude--an enigma of reality, a true reality conjoined by her usually pinned hair, and the flowing waltz of wind only revealing the gorgeous woman she was.   
  
It was then within my panic that, my tormentor came to me. She entered existence like usual, a seductress, a siren of my heart. Yet, only past and the gods know of this, only to pity me for my wrongs, and spit on my back for them, too.   
  
Oh, what sweet lips upon my own can taste! Her image still stands before me, taunting me to remember that brilliant day, when the sun radiated beams so bright! Her hair still flows within that wind--like Yuffie. "No--not now. No more dreams, not anymore." Breviloquent, yet softly I speak. I won't let an angel be a marauder of love-- but so sweet, she was.   
  
Such a heraldic figure. A danseuse of majestic glory, even in that silly pink dress. Such beauty, so gorgeous! She was the jubilee of heaven...  
  
Yet, I was the lascivious parasite...I will speak no more of this.  
  
Within the reach of those gates which held knowledge so dreadful, I came to a cessation. Not a barrier of bricks, or wood, or anything as such. I discontinued... A simple pang of fear, and then another...  
  
And then another...  
  
"Stop it." Another, and now tears. I tried to calm the storm of so much emotion: of concern, of hatred, of anger, of greed. It was a quilt of negativity, consistently striking my mind like a carpenter, driving in the final screw to a establishment of hurt.  
  
"Stop it! Stop it!" Running like the wind, like a lion determined to eliminate its prey, I ran. The wonderment of those guards, covered in such armory and metal with that standard blue undergarment setting their appearance, caused them [two] to come forward slowly. As if cautious; knowing of my mental instability.  
  
"Sir. Sir. Sir, Sir, SIR, SIR!!!" No, I won't stop, or halt or anything to deny my momentum--she's out there, alone in that field, alone.   
  
The stones were changing into a dark color, a riotous image, adding to my horror, changing it into something much worse. It is a word where it has no definition, for it is not real. It was delirium, that was clear to all who had seen me. My cloak was flapping like a flag, thrashed within the angry winds; tears were being made as each whip of every blow made the sound of something ripping...  
  
I didn't care.  
  
It was avarice that drove me, not over greed or wealth, but for her. Perhaps rapacious, though extreme, it has that strong definition of want. Yes, want, and it was only for her. But according to Castolf, the daunt, and still tearful man [I presume] that begged for needless forgiveness; she was dead, or close to it.  
  
That still bothered me. To the point of where I hated him for it. It came to that conclusion, for his avidity, that relentless enthusiasm to follow me, like an adherent--a disciple even; he would usually aver his compassion towards me. It was like this; I was his father to him.  
  
I, a father. I guess such an assumption would be relevant. For wouldn't a husband run for his beloved, his wife, in a dire emergency? Would he not die for his lover? His eternal love would not avast, not for anyone, or anything.  
  
Just because she would be his everything.  
  
Their relationship would start as a caulescent twig, then becoming a lone tree, only to grow into something much more large, and firm. Not a man, not a cavalcade of axes, or saws could bring it down. Not even death could remove its permanent roots, nor could a canon blow it down with its large steel ball.  
  
It is indestructible.  
  
It was there, like a citadel of might, trust, and love. Never to fall, only to be built upon, to such a great height that the clouds could never see it's peak, its climax. Simply because there was no end to such a love, or relationship.  
  
It was a bond, an infinite relationship that was boundless in two ways: there was no beginning, and no end. It was always there, even before life was even sparked between the two persons. Even before they met.  
  
Where it did start is unknown, for only the gods could know of such things. A concealment it is, a simple clandestinity, yet for something so enormous. But what if one died? Would that citadel grow with the same momentum? Would it even rise to a higher place? Would it be forever incomplete? That's the question that made me bolt to those doors, the second scrutinizing impediment.  
  
I wasn't too far away from the guard, now. He though I was somewhat scurrile, but why would I dissemble my scrimption? He was an inferior being, a common man whose strength only relies on his human strength.  
  
I'm not a barbarian.  
  
He screamed a few 'waits', and 'sirs', but I didn't wait. It was the last remnant of my strength that enabled the jump, which was of some height. The words to which he used, were, indeed rather humorous in content, but laughter [you'd suppose] wasn't appropriate.  
  
"Sir! Please just wait! Sir!" Then at the moment of the leap, he screamed; "Holy Shit!"  
  
The wind was a contribution to the momentum, pushing me forward, gently lifting me higher over a great distance. It was the awe on the other guard's face, still with his mouth opened, as if pronouncing something lengthy, yet so large. It was profanity, and strangely said. As if destroyed by the food he was eating, but could be heard as, "I jus' might shit myself."  
  
It was then that gunfire could be heard in seconds, I'm thinking one or two clips. The gun--excuse me, rifle, was a newer version of the SOLDIER standard uniform, and armory. The ammunition was aimed for my back, which successfully struck it.  
  
I let out the common shriek while airborne, and then roared with even more anguish due to the rough landing. A very rough landing, indeed. Something I hadn't felt in months, and had wished to feel ever again. But I did, with a rough landing, and a porous back.  
  
The sky was the last beauteous thing I saw, as I began to fall back to the ground, landing oblique and dead. It was the grandeur of the colors that let me see another day, a day not so grim, not so unexpected...  
  
Don't close your eyes. Just keep them open, and breathe. I'd tell myself that, until it became repetitious, and irritatingly redundant. But, it didn't matter, at least not now. For this moment, I was crying tears, and speaking words of remorse.  
  
"Oh please. Please, don't leave me. Don't--Don't, please Yuffie, just stay with me a little longer." There was no replication of this hurt--not from the wounds, just for her and the horrid thought of her dead.   
  
Don't close your eyes. Just keep them open, and breathe.--No, don't breathe. Close your eyes, and keep them closed. Don't think, don't cry, just go...  
  
Just go...  
  
"Sir? Sir!" Different voice. "Oh shit, oh shit. Oh shit! OH SHIT!" Someone else. "Shut-up! Just shut-up!" It was the same voice as before the second, it sounded as if he was trembling. "Pertene, you've really just screwed yourself over. Do you even know who he is?!"  
  
"Shut-up!"  
  
"Look, stop telling me to shut-up."  
  
"Shut-up! His eyes are moving."  
  
"Well, don't just stare at him! Go and get help!" Just answer me. Please just answer me.  
  
"Okay, okay." Close your eyes. Don't breathe.  
  
"What's his name, Vance?" Only make the here and now worthwhile...  
  
"What? Oh, uh I think Valentine. Yeah, that's it, Valentine!" We cannot change the future...  
  
"Okay. We're going to help you, sir. Just stay with me. Please." Close your eyes. And don't breathe.   
  
Fade into nothing...  
_________  
...I wish things were different...  
  
Oh don't worry about it...  
  
What question?  
  
What are you talking about...  
  
Yuffie, y'know I love you... I have my reasons....  
  
Go ahead then, I really don't care. You seem to love him, and not me...  
  
Stop screaming, please just stop screaming. Just stop it, please. Don't ask me that, you know I love you. Yes, I'll do whatever you want. Yuffie, please.   
  
Shh... Don't worry anymore. Just don't worry about it... What? No, I didn't say that. No, y'know what I meant.   
  
--Stop it. Just stop it. She's dead Yuffie. Stop it!! It does matter... JUST STOP IT! NOW!  
  
Oh, no. Oh no, Yuffie. Oh please, don't. I love you. Don't make this harder, not any harder...  
  
I don't want to cry anymore...not here, not now. No more darkness, I don't want to be in there alone...  
  
Don't you understand. I-I loved you. I still do...now be with me. Please just sleep... Just sleep...  
  
-Just sleep... Everything's going to be alright...  
  
We're going to sleep together...  
  
_________  
  
"Oh Marlene, oh Marlene..."   
  
"Don't cry baby...Jus' don't cry. Jus' say hi to Mommy for me, okay? --Oh my god, oh why, oh why...why now? Why fuckin' now? What did I do? Jus' tell me, so I have a god damn reason..."  
  
"Nothin'? Nothin, just like usual you damn ass!" I don't wanna to cry any more. I don't wanna cry any more.   
  
"Please give me a reason? Jus' one?"  
  
____________  
  
Not again...  
  
The two had done the banal routine of silence. The simple steps and movements were done with absolute quiet. Not even a whisper, maybe a cough was heard throughout the house--for what had they to talk about?  
  
But that wasn't the problem, oh no, it was something much worse than a loss for words. It was strange, for they had clearly changed over the months. From blissfully happy, to happily married, then to the unwanted, 'Leave me alone, and I won't bother you.' They totally skipped the 'I hate you!' phase, for there was no anger existent within those walls...  
  
If the walls could speak of the silence, a silence not meant to be, and never thought to exist; it would speak of resentment. A resentment? Yes, the resentment that dwelled within the air; stale but alive, still venomous to any relationship.  
  
Especially a marriage.  
  
The essentia of it made the house reek of discomfort. Discomfort, that terrible word that each person had to feel. That terrorizing disease of difficulty, a inherent substance leading to separation--hence, divorcement.  
  
Cloud and Tifa, divorced. Something never to be thought of, or even spoken of. An undesired event of something, well, drastic. And who else could see this coming other than the Cid? Yes, Cid the Pilot, who resided in Rocket Town. Why was he in Niebelhiem? Oh, that is something only he, and his crew know of. Yes, he came with that airship, that vehicle approximately twice the size of Niebelhiem itself, and thrice the more expensive.  
  
He would use it for business now, for simple trading between towns and cities. It was actually a cargo ship, one of twenty [all of which he built]. The name was changed to The Cid I, a bit cliched since every other ship was named after him, hence The Cid II, The Cid III, so on, and so forth.  
  
You could understand the importance of this man, but you could never comprehend his wealth. He could buy the blue skies, and the moon's glory and still be considered extravagantly rich. Once a plebian, now a noble. Did he like it? Of course not. There was such diversity between him and the rich, he would insist that he was 'the same motherfucker' as always.  
  
Motherfucker? Oh yes, something he would call others, rather himself.  
  
Yep, that 'old kid' still was flying in that heaven of serenity, where no one could bother him...well, perhaps Shera.  
  
Predictable. It can only be that. Chemistry between the two lasted long after the 'suicide' attempt, and long before it. The common 'I hate you' stance could only last for so long. Cid wasn't vindictive, though you would mistake him to be just that. Well, he wasn't, thus creating a long bond, slowly evolving into something more serious.  
  
Yet, within this process of growth, all they could speak of was Cloud and Tifa. Yes, the situation had become the nucleus of all discussion. The conversation might start with the weather, and then suddenly take an oblique turn. From there was an argument, then Cid would make a little joke, relief from the tension, and then the 'they aren't letting up, y'know' line, thus creating the C&T conversation.  
  
Now that's predictability.  
  
Cid never thought about it, until now from his newly built 'balcony'. It was more like a huge hole with some banisters surrounding it. He called it 'another masterpiece' while it really was shit. Even Shera would admit...  
  
"Are you even sure it's stable?" See? He'd respond, but then he'd forget something brilliant to say, wait, it too was shit. "Uh, yeah. Sure."  
  
"Sure? Cid, come on. You and I both know that it really--"  
  
"What?! What is it? Huh, just tell me what I already know." Yes, he was overprotective of his inventions even if it was... "Shit."  
  
"You can't just say that."  
  
"Why not? I'm just--"  
  
"Being honest? Look, when I ask you to be honest. Then you do that. But when I'm obvious to the fact of it being shit, I don't want you to say anything! Now, it being what it is--"  
  
"Shit." She often let loose her humor. This time, she chuckled to herself.  
  
"Oh goddamn, I fucking know!" Did I mention the persistent profanity? I should've warned you...  
  
"Look, Cid. If you like it, you like it. But don't let this crap stay here. It doesn't belong to you anymore...it's mine." Exchange of glances, then a smile from the lady. Then a shrug from the pilot.  
  
"...moth..fu...shi." It always made her wonder why he did that, just inflicting more humor to the situation, and reducing his dignity to nothingness. But her face did resemble that rose he gave her, the day of the agreement. It was a beautiful morning, the very opposite of this night. An egg of some species was given to her.  
  
It was alive, and it was a dove. It hatched a few days later, and now rested on her shoulder. Yes, it was her companion, but much more than that [to Cid]. It was a sweet promise, something only a lover could think of.  
  
"Y'know it won't stay forever." It was a sweet whisper, a whisper that the morning breeze exemplified every morning after that. She'd wake him right before six, a time just for them. Hmm, them, a unity of love that could exist through the destruction of one, or the other.  
  
But that's another story.  
  
"I know."  
  
"But, I'll always be here." Don't mess this up. He was often paranoid. Nobody realized it except her though. It was either a rubbing of the hands, or the shift of his eye.  
  
"Will you? Could you? I've never known you to wait..."  
  
"...I'd wait. I'd wait till as long as I could."  
  
"Till death do us part?" Till death do us part. The question was sadly never answered. Only in her dreams did he answer, had a dashing smile, and the wedding ring in his back pocket...  
  
Ironically, in reality he did.  
  
_____________  
  
"Sweet lips, like chocolate they were, so soft and gentle. Lusciously filled with the taste of nectar, similar to those eyes I adored so much. They purged my body with that silent feeling of peace, once more letting me realize that truth, the only truth."  
  
Damn letter, some poetic crap he wrote...  
  
He loved her, that for sure...  
  
She loved him...  
  
No. Stop thinking about it, just purge your mind of this. Just put the knife down and step away from her. I can just disappear, no one would really care. Like Kalm, I could go to Kalm, there's some women there...  
  
But I want her...but I can't have her. No, I can, I can have her and no one would care. No one.  
  
But what about the Unity? They'd come after me, I am the leader...  
  
But they won't follow me forever, they might just forget about it! They probably won't care.  
  
But what if they do?  
  
But what if they don't?  
  
Just kill her and get over with it. It's her fault anyway, she possessed me. All that time, poisoning me with those looks...   
  
She's so beautiful...  
  
And I'm not.  
  
What am I to do, Yuffie? What am I to do...  
  
He needs me to help him, and I needed to get close to him...  
  
But then you appeared...  
  
...It's not my fault. So don't be angry with me, okay?  
  
Okay?  
  
Don't forget that I love you, and always has...  
  
Don't forget.  
  
____________  
  
It was the hallucination that kept me alive. That beauty the Goddess' of my life held was mesmerizing, singing me a lullaby of comfort. Forgiving me of sin...  
  
Of my sin.  
  
I was in a comatose state, they said. A colossal amount of pain struck me before I ever reached the ground.  
  
But I felt the fall....I know I did. But what did I know, I was close to death--and delusional. I could only believe the verisimilitude. The appearance of truth was enough for me to believe, at least at that time...  
  
I asked about her with a very concerned attitude...  
  
And wished for death... 


	6. Three: Part Three of Three

Chapter Three  
Part Three  
  
We must travel in the direction of our fear.   
John Berryman  
  
I fell into that sleep again. A sleep so far, a world that was damned. A driblet of what it once was. It was an emptiness, an existence reduced to something a man once thought the world should be.  
  
Dead.  
  
Within this state of existence, a cold world of a cold breeze, no, more like the hurricane that the imps and demons of this actuality. It would exhume the spirits of death, of hate, of loneliness. And that purpose could only be shrouded in a nightmare's mystery.  
  
It was the austerity that death held on that cold breeze, holding another morning's doom. A doom not meant for humanity, for the planet. No curse could be so evil, so maliciously created and inflicted.  
  
No sane man could commit this crime, only derision and pain! But who, and how?  
  
Such questions that remain unanswered can only frighten me.  
  
Frighten a man without a soul.  
  
________  
  
An entrechat of the fabricant, the creator of confusion. A tear for each day, a minute, and each and every second. It was the hurt of loss, that epergne elaborately decorated with one, small ingredient.  
  
Regret, the epiphenomenon of climatic distress, the true epilogue of insanity. Yes, insanity. For she was my sanity, the bolster of all purpose, the citadel of my equanimity. Yes, I'd go as far to say that much.  
  
I was loosing my mind, slowly, but surely. I had already gained a strange speech, for I had soon become a man of few words. Quiet and suspicious, a simple reaction to loss, I suppose, but it was much more than that, or it was. Yes, it, the fidelity of the past, the promise I had made.  
  
Did I keep it? The promise was short and simple, to always remember, and to live on. But, what if I could not? This algetic life was the assonance of pain, of distress. What could I do now?  
  
I would think about that sentence, that assortment of words. Prattling within my mind, from answers to questions, from beginning to end, I would think of her, and those eyes that held that beautiful glow, that wondrous shimmer of trust, and that sweet voice of merriment, of simplistic mirth.  
  
But did that exist any longer? No, that climatic jubilee of my life, of her, had died. Death, such a methodical preternatural being, a horrid thing, an entanglement of potency, but of mesmeric qualities. Yes, she had to fall in his hands by his mesmerizing stare, the eyes that could bewitch any. Shrouded in mystery, the mastery of his disguise was to fool the world into eternal darkness, or eternal light.  
  
Whatever which, he still stole her from me.  
  
I would scream imprecation after each blasphemous thought. Perhaps he would come for me too, bringing me to a end without, or with her. Only the gods could consider my fate. But, I was impulsive, and delusional. A drastic mixture of pain, and incorrigible anger.  
  
Barret felt even more heartache than I did.  
  
I knew he did, not by our encounter, for we didn't encounter each other today; just heard each other scream. A scream of loss, a broken tear; these were the signs, and its outcome on us. It was a bitter sweet memory, a morning of blissful awakenings, and the nightfall of kidnap. To the both of us. The men saw that within our eyes, as they came to apologize. The one shooter, and the partner, both standing far away from my hands, as I laid there on that bed linen.   
  
Dreaming of another day, a day so far away from here.  
  
It was lunacy, the dreaming of a dead man: I dreamt of a land that the princess' of my soul resided. A land where its rivulets were of a flavorsome quality, where no rifts or tears lied; a perfect land. The skies bloomed the sun's robust rays, so strong, yet soft. A soothing warmth and of a sailing cloud, a eternal peace and everlasting presence. A presence of what? The essence of my love, of ecstasy and proliferate felicity. Proliferate? Yes, I was not alone. They were there, all of the men and women I had cherished. Yes, Cloud, Tifa, Barret, and Nanaki. Cid, and Aeris too, smiling over the horizon, never feeling that cold morning breeze...  
  
But such feelings diminished as the dream ended, and that cold morning breeze blew that horrendous taste of reality, reminding me softly, you're not dead yet.  
  
"Such illuminating circles of white and red I see, a taste of death, the cold bite of life still lingers within my soul." It wasn't a soft voice, masculine, and clearly old. That sentence was familiar, but odd, for this room was a dark one, of dim lighting. The floors were of a cold marble white, and the walls were of a stone that was of a expensive substance.   
  
It was smooth, a glassy covering over something rather hard, but opaque and morosely colored. The dark was in a constant battle with the light, for shadows lied from each corner, and under the bed of metal bars. A stretcher, I presume, again cold but a shining reflection of myself on it.   
  
Stale air, and the dark shadows; the man lurked within them. It was a cold voice, yet his figure could be made out. It was a bulky man, a but of a considerable height. My eyes would wander on to his boots, the only visible object, then to his eyes.  
  
By God, his eyes!  
  
They were once closed, but now opened. A burning fire they were, a touch of flames, and a hint of unreasonable anger. Fear didn't touch my spine, just surprise, and a droplet of curiosity.  
  
"A man of blood tainted robes, and a scarlet hand. A mind of confusion, and...a sudden look of surprise? Spurious, are you not that man who cried for one?"  
  
I saw a strange allurement within those eyes, and in that voice. Yet, a bandeau of fear finally arose within my spirit, within my mind. Then came the balm, a ambrosial aroma so serene, so calm, that the fear was tranquilized into arbitrary trust.  
  
"Who are you? Tell me, immediately." It was an idiotic command, an attempt to control the moment.   
  
Yet, it never occurred to me, that this one moment, instant, time could not be controlled. It would never succumb.  
  
"Odd, you do this out of fear. Shouldn't you calm yourself? For I may be of many things, a creature of powers beyond your perception, yet, you still do this? Then perhaps this noxious appearance was the reason to your fright.  
  
"Forgive me, I had no intent to cause you fright. But, take this as a warning, I don't except such rude welcomes kindly." The light still stood there, shadowing his face and upper body, only the hands were noticeable.   
  
The glove was of sand, both texture and color. It was bewildering, befuddling even, never had I seen sand in Midgar, or even on a glove. It was clenched, tight, while the other was open and relaxed.  
  
The bulb was loosing its light with every second. The shadows began to increase it size, changing the room into something more dark; not physically though. I shrugged, pulled myself from the silhouette of the dark. But, he just stood there, as if awaiting something. A question I assumed, but my supposedly apparent fear restrained me to words.   
  
He said this, with the placidity of the surrounding seas: "Ataraxy is what you want, isn't it? That beautiful tranquility that she brought. She was your Elysium, your heaven, but she has fallen into the caliginous grip of inevitability. You know of that inevitability, don't you? So many have fallen into that obscurity, into death's hands. But your aren't callow, you've felt his pain before...  
  
"Your heart has lost its beat, and your mind has fallen off its course. The trusting man you once was, died with her. And now, when all calamity seems certain, your purpose to living has no significance to you; like a fly, still flying around the light, and dung of this world, only waiting it's death by time itself, or other circumstances.  
  
The sound of it, and that contemptuous analogy, was indeed true. I had no reason for existence, as previously stated, but what did it mater to him? What calamity still roamed the land?  
  
"Don't speak as if you know me. Candidly and briefly stated, that was indeed true. But, I don't need this belittlement. You know of my calenture, her death, and her significance to me. How could you use this disaster to your satisfaction? I'll ask again, and I want a simple answer.  
  
"Who are you!?" First a whisper, then a scream. His voice was as loud as thunder, camouflaged by deep concern of something horrid.  
  
"Vincent Valentine! What you wish to gain from this question will only haunt you until your time's end! The devilry and the godliness I hold can never be revealed to a man, even you! It is a poison, a truth, never to be known. Many have asked, none have survived!"  
  
The growl was an affliction of sound . It's caliber was like the mighty winds of the sea. Yet, I felt the marvel of it all, and finally understood that he, in his obvious power was something greater. A superior being, but somehow relative to humanity. For he was human, hence the fingers, toes, eyes, and lips - but, he wasn't totally human.  
  
The eyes had lost its glow, and the darkness was reduced to a less frightening stance. It was eased back, slowly as the tension rose [but was still there]. Then, I saw his face: coarse, pale, and the small touch of eldership. It was cold, a mixture between the visage of a corpse, and the blue seas. The coarse quality his face held, was indeed apparent. Like mountain ranges colliding with each other, only to rise more from the vicinity of the face.  
  
"Don't let my facade frighten you, for I have many."  
  
"Many? Tell me, what species are you? No, let me rephrase, what are you?" His lips, so smooth, yet so red formed a smile, a hideous smile. A smile which was followed by a courteous chuckle, was displayed to my encrypted disgust.  
  
"That I cannot tell you, for a countless millennia's have pasted without me ever wondering."  
  
"Are you that old?" I began to sit up from that bed, my posterior still lied within the comfort of bed padding, but my posture was upright. My clothing was on, everything, nothing removed or misplaced, and my wounds - gone. I didn't care to think about it, still wondering, contemplating on the man's purpose of his visit.  
  
No, not visit, for what visitor would startle the visited? I tried to forget about it, and focused my thought on his words, but I only was befuddled, to a point of complete bewilderment.  
  
"Why have you come to me? What is this? You tell me your older than humanity, and deem yourself god! If you are such a great being, tell me why would such a deity visit me?"  
  
The question was quick, but spoken with gentilesse. I heard another chuckle, but the slight hint of amusement, yet it was gammy, like it wasn't authentically presented.  
  
Like he felt nothing.  
  
"It will be explained in time. But, I will tell you this, and you must comply."  
  
"What? You have left me in garboil, and have smothered me with even more confusion with your explanation of 'existence'. Why should I comply? Do you think I honestly take your words as truth?"  
  
"It would be wise to do so, but, this is a choice. A choice for that happiness death has stolen."  
  
"What? Are you telling me she can return?"  
  
"Much more than that, Vincent. You will be truly satiated in her love, for she will be alive. Never have I lied, and there is no reason to do so."  
"-No, she's dead."  
  
"I told you not to act like this, like you were the older, wiser man. You can't control the situation. You weren't meant to. You cannot fly without falling..." How did he know of this? Why did he use this tragedy to his advantage.  
  
Because it worked.  
  
It was the tear that betrayed me, that divulged my one wound. No physical bruise or pain could literally wound me, only her. She was my one flaw, yet, my one bond.  
  
"How could I not? She's dead, and the pain kills me with every second, every breath, and every heartbeat. Just living kills me, and that's not living." The emotions, the human emotions were my other flaw, killing me with those droplets of sorrow and reticent lamentation.  
  
"I can find the lost, only if you are willing." He said those words, lacking in something. Enthusiasm. Just that bland serious tone, yet, leaving me to faith in the twilight of doubt.  
  
"Willing? To what?"  
  
"It will be revealed in time. But, you will have to travel."  
  
"To where?" Travel. That wouldn't cause much problems, Midgar had suddenly lost its appeal. Though, I'd wonder to why. Perhaps something was there, an object, or just a test. I had honestly considered this, for what was left of my life?  
  
"The cold mountains of the superior, a being so wise, yet so naive. Where the breeze of the cold morning begins and ends. The place of your confinement; go there."   
  
"Niebelhiem? Why Niebelhiem?"  
  
"Don't question me, just either do it, or not. I will only wait for a time, and I won't wait for more than a length of eight sunrises, and seven sunsets. When there, you will know." The light started to flicker, as the shadows began to increase their territory. Like the armies of darkness, overcoming the hope and joy...  
  
...Rendering myself, no longer innocent.  
  
"Of what?" Another flicker, and then finally, darkness. He was breathing, and so was I. Small, but so loud, it was like an animal breathing its last.  
  
Then finally a discontinuance. Only those red eyes, finally closing as the essence disappeared.  
  
  
___________________  
  
"It is coming. The time is drawing so close. She has opened her eyes, and has inhaled that taste of her desire. Within the white, there is always the black, her removal from this world hasn't changed a thing. They have failed, miserably, she knows this, and so do I."  
  
"Soon, we will finally have dominion over the Civilization, the Dome. They will never withstand the true force of JeN. They don't realize even of our existence, yet they bicker on an on about their frivolous problems. We are more than able to abolish them now, Sire."  
  
"But, the Wisdom knows of us. The stars are crying for the planet, alerting it. You must move quickly to the Cosmo Canyon, before he finds out. If he does, the world will soon know of the preemptive attack.  
  
The Planet is already building its defense, and is searching for it's leader."  
  
"Don't be too concerned, Sire. I have already understood this problem, and have the plans to destroy the defense, and the inhabitants. They won't survive. They'll kill themselves in greed."  
  
"Don't be too certain, the Omnispirit is against us."  
  
"I will, Sire."  
  
__________________  
  
It was the blue suit that distinguished him from the black, creating that feeling of stupidity. He repeated the word 'Jackass', and started to sweat. His palms, moist, and cold. His face was dotted with tiny drops of perspiration too. Yes, he was on the sun.  
  
And he was quenching the flames.  
  
Yeah, he was a moron alright. At least he thought so, and that wasn't going to change, not until he was buried by his wife, while she cried in happiness, "There is a god!"  
  
Sarcasm? My ass, that's how it is. His life was, quote on quote, fucked, and hell - he knew that before the age of eleven. But, now it was really fucked, and what else was he to do but stutter?   
  
"Ye-Yea-Yes m..m..madam...." He was talking to his boss then, but now, he's a representative of Midgar. I'm sure you know him, people call him CS. His real name is Cait Redring, but ever since his famous puppet act, Cait Sith was a more memorable name.  
  
Either that, or loser.  
  
He was actually a cool guy, not a dick or anything remotely jerk-like. He was a genius, but was the kind that stayed quiet. No one respected him, and no one really knew of his existence. Well, the new president did. You wouldn't know the president; he was a rebellion leader.   
  
Rebellion? Yeah, sort of like Avalanche, but more sophisticated. They actually didn't kill people though, just stopped things. They actually cut off all the power throughout Midgar once. A guy named Cait, yeah, him helped. Like I said, he was a genius, but a loser to everyone else.  
  
Hell, I even thought he was a loser. But he isn't. That's why he's at the Grand Peace Ball. It's not a real ball, more like a lecture session of pompous assholes trying to get what they want. Kalm, Gongaga, Mideel, Corel, even Cosmo Canyon representatives were there. Though he only recognized one person, well, thing.  
  
That thing with the candle tail. Red XIII, but now referred to as Sir Nanaki, a title given to him by his followers. Yeah, he has followers, adherents, and bums that adore him. Yep, Nanaki was venerated beyond belief. But, not Cait, no, no, not Cait Redring.  
  
He was a 'fuck-up'. No one gives a rat's ass about him, not anymore.  
  
Only the President, which is pretty good, but wasn't big anyway. Cait was an errand boy, mostly, never to do anything seriously, until now. The day he finally spoke up - the president was amazed. The President, wait, Johan or something, was actually wanting to do this himself, but he proved that he did existed and said:  
  
"I can do this. It's not any trouble for me, really si-sir." Okay, not a big thing, but good enough! Johan gasped and said, "well, whatever." ...Okay, not a totally astounding piece, but hell, he's here, God damn it!  
  
Yep, here. With a myriad people, all bickering about the problems, and snickering behind other rep's backs. The grand meeting was about to start, and he was just busy sweating. Yeah, he's a wuss, I'll say that much.  
  
"I've never seen you before, a Midgarian, right?" It was a guy with spectacles, very magnified to where Cait felt really uncomfortable.   
  
Like you'd want a telescope on your forehead...thought so...!  
  
"Um, ah, yeah, I mean yes. I'm the representative of Midgar..." Don't stutter, just don't stutter. Yeah, keep repeating that idiot. "M-may I ask t-to whom you rep-present-t?"  
  
"Are you alright? Are you always like this? Oh damn, oh damn. Yeah, you've just embarrassed yourself, and now you have to use the bathroom. Great...just great, moron. The man was old, wearing the fashionable black suit, and obviously rich. The pocket watch told Cait that, but then again, he was oblivious to everything.  
  
"Yes, Mr.?"  
  
"Darklight, Rep. Darklight. And may I ask who you are?"  
  
"Excuse me, I'm Representative Redring of Midgar. Who do you represent again?"  
  
"Junon, I represent Junon. A pleasure to meet you."  
  
"Likewise." Act calm, act calm.  
  
Idiot.  
  
"So tell me, Rep. Redring: what do you hope from the formal meet?" Stay calm, breathe, and smile. Oh god, he'd continue these steps consistently, but it worked.  
  
"There seems to be an embargo on Midgar, and I have been sent to understand why." He nodded, the interrogator that is. He sighed, and then shook his head in disbelief. "You too?"  
  
"Excuse me?" I don't know why he said that. Perhaps he wasn't listening? Well, whatever the reason, the black suit ignored it. He just smiled, looking onward to the next room, where to enormous doors stood. They were of a beautiful wood, mahogany maybe. The two men that held the doors were starting to signal people in the room, which he knew as the Council Room.  
  
I'll explain more when we get in there.  
  
"You're excused, now tell me, what city has refused trade?"   
  
"Three, actually. Mideel, Kalm, and Gongaga." Another nod. "Mideel, Kalm, and Corel have halted all trades, Gongaga is totally independent."  
  
"Independent?" That little village was scarce on everything, how could it be 'independent' without killing off a few people?  
  
"Yes, they've suddenly halted everything. No trading, as if they're building for something. And, they've had a huge increase of population, and we don't know from where they came from."  
  
"How do you know of this?" One rule, never question the leaders. But hell, Redring had already had a pint of booze, his first actually in quite a while. "...Well, I see you as no harm anyway. I have sources within all cities, and Gongaga isn't that underdeveloped city anymore... It's more like a metropolis."  
  
"Excuse me?" There he goes again.  
  
"We can't talk about this here, but I would desire a word at a place; we can talk freely there." He nodded in agreement, but then thought for a second - and put logic in the equation. But, before he could withdraw his compliance, the official was gone.  
  
How could this be? How could the population rise within a few months? And why? What is the cause for this? Questions and more questions, yet there was no answers and no one to answer them. Well, at least he proved useful.  
  
____________________________  
  
  
"Embargo." The word was said softly, but she was still trying to understand how this happened. She closed her eyes, and opened them again. Looked to the left, then the right. Then, finally, she breathed her last before the pilot would bombard her with his unanswerable query.  
  
She looked up, and sighed. "Well?"  
  
He shifted to the railing, hit it, and shook the pain off. His eyes, darting, signaling panic and questions that he would ask her. But how the hell would she know? Yes, now he'd think rationally, saying: what does she know? She knows as much as you do! Just don't scream at her, calm down, calm down. But, he couldn't calm down. That's Cid Highwind's trait, the quality of unreasonable anger. Like so: "What the fuck do you mean embargo!"  
  
"Like I said: Embargo. What else is there to say? Kalm, and Mideel have an embargo on everything now. Gongaga has closed its gates, and no one can get inside."  
  
He laughed with incredulity, then minimized it into a chuckle, and then nothing. She looked confused, thinking: Is he alright? While he, in his solution of bewilderment, panic, and bitter taste of irony stood there. Why irony? Because he had just invested a huge amount of gil on parts to build five newer planes.  
  
And from where?  
  
Mideel, yep he really hit the shit now, and was getting smothered by friends. He was a worldwide transportation source, the quickest way to get where you want to go, and yet he was betrayed by his customers. Betrayal, abrupt and bitter, and all he could do was laugh like the idiot he was.  
  
"Cid? Cid. Cid calm down, breathe. Cid! Breathe!  
  
"Cid, breathe! Breathe Cid! Oh god, did you take your medicine? Oh damn it! Anyone!" Did I tell you of the medication? Yeah, he has a big heart problem, and his disinclination to it didn't help either.  
  
Then came her savior, a young guy. He wore the customary pilot uniform, but his eyes were in shock. It was obvious he saw the whole thing, which made her think: Why the hell are they always eavesdropping?   
  
He stopped, she started to open her mouth. He turned towards her, and stared, while she pointed to him. He pointed to himself in doubt, but she confirmed it with her stressed voice. It was on the verge of becoming demonic. You know, the pissed voice.  
  
"You! Yes, you! Go get the doctor! Hurry!"   
  
He collapsed from the stress, I suppose. She saw him choking on something, but she didn't know what. This was his fourth collapse, and his second mild heart attack., but he didn't regard it as such. Nope, not Cid Highwind, he couldn't have a sickness! He was the God of the skies! How could he have a heart attack?  
  
"Oh god, Cid. Why are you so stupid? Come on honey, you can do this. Just calm down..." He'd survive, the ass always did; she was just paranoid. You couldn't blame her though, they had a kid. A beautiful baby boy, only three years old, living with Bugenhagen.  
  
Why Bugenhagen? Well, it was more Shera's idea than Cid's. She was in love with that place, Cosmo Canyon, always dreamed about it when she was a child. When she met Nanaki, she followed him back to his home, while Cid just continued to question: Why Cosmo freakin' Canyon?   
  
She tried her best to ignore him, but loved his opposition to everything - oddly enough. But now, she hated him. He just couldn't take a pill, like it was like climbing a mountain for him. Pathetic. He was a stubborn bull, and would die that way.  
  
She was in the hangar, which was empty of anyone else but that young man who she sent for help. Luckily, the doctor came only a few minutes after her calling. He was old, stereotypically, and slow to words. But she didn't care, as long as he'd stay alive.  
  
Until she thought otherwise.  
  
"Oh thank the Gods! Dr. White!" He came in like usual, very slow. He didn't use anything to help him walk faster, though Cid did give him a mechanical wheelchair. But as previously stated, he didn't use it. The common "Nah" from his lips was often the most irritating thing Cid heard, never taking advice or help.  
  
Like him.  
  
"I knew he'd forget them. I have some right here." Now that sentence was said over a minute of time, while he retrieved the pill bottle from his little leather bag. She was ready to kick the guy off the ship, and often wished she could, but he had nowhere to go. His family died in the Meteor attack, like so many.   
  
But, she still wanted him to die soon.  
  
He handed the bottle with his hand shaking erratically, "Thanks again, Doctor." She was angry, so taking the lid was no problem, breaking the lid off was.  
  
She still had more to tell him, too.  
  
____________________  
  
"Mr. Valentine? Mr. Valentine. Can you hear me?" Cold, just that barricade of momentary comfort was there with me, and the formless voice. It was female, a touch of care and concern, but not real.   
  
A doctor. How fortunate to find such aggravating sources of discomfort. From the acridity of cold, to the annoying helpfulness of a intellectual. I just couldn't understand the blandishment doctors usually instill among their patients, while when they die, never excepting themselves as blameworthy.  
  
I call such irresponsibility, doctors. Some actually take accountability, but most just continue that primary hospitable blandishment, while never honestly caring for that one person. A life I'd never pursue, doctors are truly saviors on all accounts.  
  
Yet, this doctor wasn't like the few I mentioned, more irresponsible and spurious than trustworthy. She did the customary doctor's greeting, then took no time to rush me into 'surgery'. Interesting how I had never seen such things carried out.  
  
She injected some green solution within my arm, giving the slight pinch, once again resulting in unconsciousness.  
  
And back to a dream not desired.... 


	7. Four: Part One of Four

Chapter Four  
Part One  
  
After all, my erstwhile dear,  
my no longer cherished,  
Need we say it was not love,  
Now that love is perished?  
Edna St. Vincent Millay  
  
Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.  
Arthur Miller.  
  
  
I could see it, burning in the flame. They fell from the firmaments like mountains. There was no where for us to run, or hide; we just died. The children saw their mothers and fathers be consumed by the flames of blue and green. We could not see the end of it all; we just ran in fear down each road, and ever corner that it held.  
  
We died in those flames.  
  
It was of many colors and of one shape. The heat distorted the vision and the mind; insanity wasn't so far away. It was in that falling sun over the hills of green, now scorched and dead. It was death, a fatality upon this city and I knew of it, yet I stood firm.  
  
Firm. Not moving, not breathing even a little. My fear was what left me there, for fear itself was frightened. My soul was dying at the sight, my mind was loosing itself to delusion, and my eyes were brought to tears.  
  
But my legs didn't move. My fear was suddenly gone and my panic evaporated. I knew the truth, and I accepted it, but I didn't let it move me. Not any longer, no more cowering, no more tears. I'd repeat words from my father within my mind, the words to comfort my heart, to pamper myself.  
  
They were coming closer and the light magnified itself, and evolved into heat. Burning me before even touching the city, destroying the flesh - pulling it away. Yet, within that burning hell, that easy consumption of what I was, a child, I was firm. I was stable for my end, thus making it fitting for that fivefold encounter, and the following benediction for the fearless.  
  
For I died, willingly. I died fearlessly.  
  
_________  
  
The fixation of time, of my time stood before me while the white entered with her. The air was palatable, just like her image. The beauty she held, and the vaticination she bore within her lips was far from a human perception, but again, I am not human. The blank face she had shown with concern was puzzling yet an explanation within itself. In other words, she saw something. A moment a smile, then the next a contemptuous stare.  
  
Beneath the blue eyes that the seas of Heaven could only compare, I saw myself falling within the black. With that vast darkness, I struggled and tried to escape, but then a word from her lips told me to "trust."  
  
I did, yet my mind would falter, and that trust would slowly recede from my shores; like the darkness would lurk behind the curtains and finally dissolve within the morning sunrise, and the coming of the cold breeze.  
  
"You see valence, Vincent within my eyes. Don't mistake it as otherwise. It was a love that has faded, a trust broken by death. It will never leave me, and it will never leave you for it cannot be forgotten or valuated."  
  
"Why have you come to me? Where are we?" Again I responded, but this moment with valiancy and a notion of curiosity.   
  
"The fire burns with a flaxen tail, dancing within that city. Yet, within this flection of reality - within the dreams of a lover I still see that flagitious flame burning ever so bright... So tell me, one of such age, what are you to do? I still see that flagrant blemish, and the sting it creates... So why do you still stand bold? Yet among all this doubt?"  
  
"Doubt? I don't even understand what is happening. Am I becoming delusional?!" The pristine glow of that white horizon intensified the pulchritude she held. It was like a bland heaven, not purposive or remotely explainable. It was just there, a valley of white with now natural field. The grass that would commonly lie in a field didn't exist here, nor did stones, hills, or a sun. It was just white, a vast opening of it.  
  
"Are you trying to remember, Vincent? Or do you still seek the answer?" I turned to the question, and saw the smile of understanding, though that facial expression of hers was constantly variable. I didn't look into them this time. My pusillanimity was my only valid reason for that, for fear came from those eyes.  
  
I feared of the past. It was a past that was not been of mine, but of someone else. She knew of that somebody, the man she loved, the man that I was. The vagrant who's absent ego was equipollent to his undying love. I could only sympathize for him, for his trait was my own. There was always an aftermath to love, for I have felt everyone.  
  
"I don't know, but within a dream there is always a point of awakening."  
  
"Eager for it, aren't you? You are sobbing in your cowardice, you are a Vincent I never knew and don't wish to. Come; trust me nothing can happen to you within your dreams."  
  
"So it is a dream." She answered softly with a "yes", but her reassurance wasn't comforting. "Vincent, I have come to you because there has been something lurking around. A parasite wanting a host, a helping hand and I fear that it has found it. A political leader, you might say a leader of a nation and, I might say colossal threat. Whatever you think of him as, he has been in contact with the Parasite and has joined with it. The stars, they are crying again. The Planet has heard it and I fear there are no Ancients to stop it."  
  
"I don't understand. Why do you ask me for help? You know of the pain I have suffered, why distress a blind man?"   
  
"A blind man?" She responded in the appearance of a question, an odd question. I blinked, and she drew forward as the cold breeze emphasized on the eerie nature of her drawing close.  
  
Then in a whisper, she spoke again, softly. "You think of yourself as blind?" Then a silence, a similitude with a camouflaged significancy took her voice, replaced it with that gesture of pity. It was feminine, soft, and gentle, but with the dissimilitude of that very characteristic.  
  
She was shrewd, but not terse, rude and longwinded were the notions given. A smile appeared, then disappeared as easily it came. Then the archfiend, archaic yet arbitrary nature of anger emerged from her patent face, so white and gentle, now engorged with anger.  
  
"Oh, you are quite mistaken. That is an understatement, you don't know how lost you are, Vincent. You don't even see the semblance of darkness before you! Your eyes gaze into mine so gentle, yet with so many questions that I have not an eternity to answer! Please, you are not blind - you are utterly lost. Not even the Wisdom of the Cetra could lead you home."  
  
"Then why come to me? Am I some palatable dish to fate? So she can inflict more pain, more distress upon my life? Why not let me be?"  
  
"Vincent, don't pity yourself. It is ostensible that I, no, fate has a reason. That reason is a choice, a choice you cannot decline sanely, and a choice you cannot except without feeling slightly idiotic. It has been to long that I've heard the cries of the Omnispirit-" I interrupted out of shock. "Omnispirit? Where have I've heard of this appellation before?"  
  
It was a reminding of something long forgotten, like a past I didn't live. She turned away from my face, not out of fear, but out of restraint. She held something, knew something that I didn't. I came close, stepped forward. She in reaction looked again within my eyes, so intently looking for something.  
  
A something she had seen, but something else she did not. I saw the glow of her blue eyes intensify, like small feathers on the blue. White droplets of a holy essence, yet consumed by that black sorrow and worry. It was a song of affliction, and of a past that I did remember. The eyes of Lucrecia, so soporific, so filled with rue.   
  
I held her, I could see she was reminding me of that time with that sonance. A breath, a small exhalation of wanting...I held her tight. Sweet lips like chocolate they were, so soft and gentle. Lusciously filled with the taste of nectar, similar to those eyes I adored so much. I let her hypnotic sorcery induce that honey within my own lips, as she kissed me, tearfully and sorrowfully.  
  
"Would you see me cry Vincent? Even your soothing embrace, your honey lips and lonesome eyes can seduce me still. Yet, your heart lies with another, doesn't it?"  
  
"Is my lamentation for her a dissonance? Did I kiss you for that fallacy of ecstasy, or because I still love you?" I pulled away from her, as my own tear came to my eye. I would wipe it away, but she pulled me to her quickly. "Sordid is this world, Vincent. The only way to cleanse your people, for them to show that they are regretful for their sins is for them to repent. You have repented of a sin you didn't commit for so long, I have watched you crawl in that dirt. Grieving for something you didn't do, taking life as a punishment, killing yourself slowly."  
  
"I don't want to see any more Vincent, even in death; I have seen you suffer. Now and only now do I have to send even more pain, more anguish upon your soul. May the destined path that drew us apart be cursed, and may I be the lowliest woman that humanity has given life to. I denied you, a sin I can never correct, a love I have lost. So would you let me go, Vincent? Now that you finally hold me close, so close..." The sanctorium of Lucrecia began to fade in that white soothing blur, color changing within the distance, to a blue, like her eyes.  
  
Distortion - her voice was becoming distorted like a radio projecting static. It was again, another eerie encounter with the weird. "Would you hold me tight? Would you kiss me longer, passion filled, love abound? Tell me once, let the words echo through my mind for a lifetime, let the truth release me once more from the suffering." She breathed as if in ecstasy, holding me close, her head resting on my chest like her final comfort. Her face rose, as the blur seemed to overtake this dream's reality. The face of ivory's gold, loosing all texture, all beauty, as it was lost in the blur of white.  
  
"It is coming more quickly now, oh, how I've dreaded this! Vincent, oh my love! Please remember this. Leave Midgar now it is coming quickly. The power of greed can even consume the godly, even the seraphim of heaven's bosom. Within that greed lies the truth, a truth the world will never believe, a reality never to be spoken. Tell your people of this; tell it with no restraint for the light of this world will fade if allowed to fall into the darkness.  
  
"The fire will fall again, yet, from someone greater than Sephiroth. Greater than Jenova, a godly parasite she is and an abomination to existence she has always been. She has already placed her hold here, the city of a cannon so strong. She holds the pieces of destruction, but the Omnispirit knows of her corruption. Go to Niebelhiem and meet the Haruspex. Meet him within the mansion, don't hesitate another second, don't let your chance pass you by..." Distortion, it was getting darker, her face loosing all distinguishing characteristics. Her eyes have disappeared into the darkening white now, as I fell again into confusion and hopelessness.   
  
Then back into reality.  
  
________  
  
"What is wrong with this guy again?"  
  
"He was shot, remember?"  
  
"Okay then, I'm going to need some blood in here, and a surgeon ready then."  
  
"What? Why? Can't you get them out yourself?"  
  
"Yes, jackass. It's too close to the spine."  
  
They brought him in from the Midgar Gates. Supposedly someone shot him midway in the air. He fell on his right side, with eight actual holes in the back. They rushed him to the hospital, and bang, he's here. The girl, doctor something was assumingly looking for the wounds right then. She was a rushing type, the girl who was always moving. She would be described as a bitch, considering herself queen, and the like. That's how she was, yes sir. I can't remember her name right now though; it's an odd one. I think it's made up, but I'm usually wrong about that. I think it is Faustine...yeah, it is Faustine. Now the last name is gonna be a bitch.   
  
Let me see...."Calixte, I don't know what pissed you off, but now you're pissin' me off now!" There it is! Faustine Calixte, don't forget doctor. Have you ever heard such a name? Faustine? Yeah, it's made up, I know it is. People never forgot her name, though. How could you forget such a pain?  
  
"God, do you ever back off?"  
  
"Haven't yet, and certainly not for you."  
  
"What is that supposed to mean?!"  
  
"Damn it! Just shut up!"  
  
"No! Why the hell should I?!"  
  
"If you knew how you sound right now! You'd definitely agree with me that shutting up would be the best solution!"  
  
"The day I agree with you is the day you pronounce yourself as 'Bitch of the Century'!"  
  
Her daily routine of pissing everyone off was this: one, tell them every weakness they have, emphasize on it like you don't have anything else to do, then spit it back. Two, don't take any jokes, and otherwise make that person [usually a man] feel like horseshit. Then finally, three, repeat that till your death is only about five feet away from you, and even then, still tell them to fuck off.  
  
The assisting doctor, name not important, would try, everyday to make her pleased, but today, he'd learnt that it was impossible. So, in his rage, he finally let go of his anger thus enabling him to say this: "You fucking bitch! I hope you burn in hell, FAUSTINE!"  
  
Now, let me tell you, he was on the climax of his existence, when he'd finally give up. Now, note what follows: He tell her the line above, she'd tell him to get a grip, he'd ask why she hated him, she would reply "I can't stand honest pricks that have no clue to what they do, professionally, and personally. You, obviously, are the worst this planet has to offer, just as simple as that. To be brief, you are a blithering idiot who doesn't know left from right. Every morning, when I get up, I loathe to the fact that my life has to encounter your dumbass, and you know what? I have been realizing this, and have wanted to say it since you've got here. You're a dickhead, and it has been my pain to know you. Fuck off."  
  
She said this all rather quickly, yes indeed. Like one of those antiquated steel trains that don't stop until they reach the final destination. Well, the "fuck off" was technically the final destination, the total halt of movement was he leaving, which is what happened exactly, but it came after the chase.  
  
He chased her, isn't that funny? She had literally run for her life, you would render it as so because of the shiny metal object he held in his left hand. Yet, the reluctance to restrain Mr. I'll-turn-you-into-bitcheroni by the fellow doctors and security guards was obvious, for they to hated her even now. She was screaming through the corridors while some other doctors rushed Mr. Bulletholes to Surgery.  
  
She'd often look behind her in this moment of sadistic madness. The doctor was laughing insanely, roaring his voice with the sentence of obvious delirium. "We still need to attend to the patient, Ms. Calixte! There is no reason to be alarmed..."  
  
Now within these hallways of white, where papers lied pinned against of miscellaneous assortments and colors, there was one guy that actually cared, and happened to have a gun. His awkward position, and flamboyant hair coloring and huge feet were all distinguishing attributes. It gave an apocryphal look, like a bastard perhaps. Not that he didn't have a father, just not a homeland. Usually nowadays there is something to tell the difference between a Niebelhiemian, and a Kalmith. Whether it's the accent, or the ethnicity, or shade of skin, and even down to the clothing you can always tell the difference.  
  
With this guy, you'd wonder if he were from the past! Clothing, historic, somewhat Midgarian but very archaic. The ensemble was composed of: leather jacket with special inscriptions on the boarders, of a silver thread and stitched with much expertise. The boots were the most stunning, Faustine saw them even in her panic! At first thinking "what am I going to do?! What did I piss him off? GOD, I'm so freaking sick of this shit! I mean - Whoa!"   
  
The 'whoa' was the result of the instant sighting of them, and of his face. The guy was a "stud", perhaps that's even an understatement. He was endowed with natural beauty, and, luckily a concern for the poor girl.  
  
So, as a gentleman, he rose to his feet as she passed him by, panting and repeating profanities throughout her mind. The occasional 'fuck' was used only leisurely before, now it was an obligation, like ripples on water when stone hits the surface.   
  
The man's hair was an extreme color, so the doctor instantly realized him being in front of him. Down that hallway, there were two entrances to the one he currently stood, actually being another corridor. The female doctor ran out of the right one, and so did the menacing doctor with the medical butcher knife.  
  
In seeing this, he pulled a gun, specifically an interesting species of a gun relative to a hunter's shot gun. This rifle wasn't the repeatedly seen rusty weapon, but a very elegant machine. The barrel was of a silver polished finely, and the handle of a similar metal. The man himself held a mercurial temperament, and ironically wasn't in favor of abusing women.   
  
Now, assess all this information, add that he is six foot, and the doctor is five eight. Do you see the fate of the doctor already? Repeat this with me, S-C-R-E-W-E-D, screwed, he-is-screwed. Plain and simple, right?  
  
The doctor approached him as if he didn't notice him standing there. Eyes wide with that lunatic look, twitching slightly filled with anger, scratches of red overcoming them. Even the handsome guy was somewhat reactive to the aberration.   
  
He stood still, stone still if I may say so. The doctor had the stigma of excitement within him, I suppose; he ran directly towards him. I'm assuming that he, in his rage-intoxicated self-thought he could push his luck, but then again, he had no luck to begin with.  
  
He expected to bump into a shoulder, what he did encounter was the end of a gun, y'know, the one with two holes from the end? Again, the fear and panic made an algalm that made him whine. A whine of fright, like a child or something like it.  
  
First words? "Back off, jackass."   
Now, within the corridor, in the perfect stillness there was a woman that was virtually impossible to locate. It isn't simple enough to explain because it would have to deal with something you have no clue to of existing. Let me just say that within the millisecond of a blink, she appeared.  
  
It wasn't a special entry, just a 'pop' and there she was, besides the standing doctor, the female one. Faustine didn't realize her presence, but she did feel that little trickle of fingertips on her neck.. The next instant, she thought she was capernoited.  
  
What she saw within those five seconds was something along the lines of a 'great' premonition, but this girl wasn't special, just a bitch, she knew that, and so did Mr. Psycho. She'd wonder to herself, but she chose in capitulating all reasoning and gave herself the title drunkard. The lady that entered the room was freaky looking, you might say. Something like or above freaky, but I haven't heard a word yet like it.   
  
Let me remind you that Faustine was already shocked with the attempted killing, shotgun in attempting killer's forehead, and mysterious appearance of this woman, did she need anymore? In other words, she passed out.  
  
Can't blame her, the woman was stressed out, and that was enough for her. She was an official queen in melodrama anyway...  
  
She fell like bricks, falling straight down with the last exhalation of air. Mr. Mighty Fine saw this, dropped his weapon, and dived for her before she could hit the floor. A man who believed in aiding women, I assume, he went down with her.  
  
It was hilarious. How she so awkwardly fell, and how he so audaciously, but humorously saved her neck was just that, hilarious. The woman who caused her to faint just watched this all occur, face blank, watching he and she fall.   
  
The doctor, luckily and unsurprisingly ran for his life down that corridor. She could see him, but she didn't care, she was here for another reason that wasn't for them.   
  
Then "stop." One word, and things came to a halt, another unexplainable miracle. I'd usually say, "huh?", but that wouldn't help either of us out, now would it? To be blunt, she had halted time with a one word. As you can see, she was a being not meant to be messed with.  
  
____________  
  
With the velvet she wore, and the hair that she possessed, you could call her enchanting, but things aren't what they appear. A rip, a tear in reality was what led her to here, to this place. No one could see her coming, how could they know?  
  
A goddess? Nope, not that great, but an entity that held powers only the wise could understand. Her hair was a beautiful brown, light and heavenly. Her clothes were odd, as before, velvet. Her dress was a lengthy one, of luxurious golden chain lied on her hip, like a belt but only of such a fine metal.  
  
She stood there as she eyed the room, a custom she had made for herself when halting something so important to existence. Time would interlace itself with her power, admitting her to do whatever she pleased for moments, but only for moments.  
  
She didn't like doing this though, walking through dimensions of time, and being the intermediary. Such things would be usually done by an internuncio, but this was big, something so necessary to life; she only found it proper to present herself this way. How could she be an abeyance in this world anyway? She just witnessed, what she had heard of, a scuffle, and where she was from, things so avoidable were avoided. But, there was an unambiguous vicissitude within this world, and an even more apparent naive image its inhabitants gave.  
  
She began to walk, she was using much of her power on this traveling. Growing weary with every step, every move, and every magical distortion. She knew he was here, and was very near, but the residue of the Omnispirit was fading away, and even if it was in her vicinage, there would be nothing pinpointing her magic into this world, this dimension. Just a simple touch, the slightest embrace would hold her there, but she didn't want that anyway.  
  
Then impact, she was starting to loose herself as she reached the next hallway, a right. She tried to run even faster now, feeling her power, now lambasted by the slenderizing residue burst, magical debris of blue and white chipping her magic away, removing her from this world into the next.  
  
Faster, faster... She could hear herself as if her voice was projected, a side affect of the robust inter-reality shift, wait, this wasn't the residue bursts, this was actually someone. Someone had been watching, even her roborant regius bracelet hadn't helped, only lead her to the last gate.  
  
She was running much slower now, an apparent thread of distortion passed her as it pushed her in mid-air, thrusting her back against the floor. She didn't hit it though, catching herself from falling. It was strange, she flew backwards like a window-shutter, flapping from one position into the next without her legs moving.  
  
She saw the ground, and raised herself up with her magic. Where she obtained this skill? Such power isn't obtained, it is given by the great.   
  
Vincent. It was faltering, the power was almost used. Give it up. A voice very strong and sinister spoke deeply, but she couldn't understand from where it came. She pushed herself up, as the magic presented her with the effortless push, restoring her to the original position, vertical.  
  
Vincent, don't leave the dream. She wouldn't give up, especially not to this voice, she knew clearly who it was now, the oddity of it was distinguishing from most influential powers, there was only one that was this powerful, only one that would be willing to restrain her.   
  
It was the Harvest.  
  
It was obvious that she was loosing the battle, and using magic now would only set her back, so she ran as fast as she could, not trying to defend herself, or use any magic to prevent pain; she'd feel plenty should she fail.  
  
I am warning you Tifalirani, give it up. You think you can stop the inevitable, you're terribly wrong. You can't stop her, no one can! Joining her will assure your existence, please! She was panicking now, but she gripped her hands as she ran, thinking: don't let him do this again, he is no longer influential, just another enemy. Yes, a thorn that laces around a rose, the wind pulling the petals. She ran without speaking, only thinking to herself, and using magic to secure privacy.  
  
The hallways were just interlacing each other. Each residue burst was shortening her magic, relinquishing her right to be within this dimension. But, then she saw down one hallway three stretchers. Each beside one another, either vertically or horizontally, they lied on each side of the path.   
  
The light, the light. It would normally be somewhat noticeable, but she saw nothing, only two men and one woman. The faces, both imprisoned in time's cage. The woman to the left side was youthful, but a red substance concealed most of her face. An abrasion rested in the middle of that consuming liquid, before the forehead, between the nose, it was hideous. The other two had no manifest wound on them, but the one that dwelled on the right side of the hallway laid within a puddle of blood, presumably his own.  
  
To be curt. He was neither of them, so she continued to run. More residue bursts came and she'd fall to the pain, but then one of the final explosions hit here, instantaneously know she was nearing the last one. A unique power signature came from the last ones, more powerful than usual.  
  
Running, and running. Seeing more hallways, and more corridors as she passed them, but no light. But then, finally, as she ran down the last hallway, she turned to see one corner glowing in light. It was blue this time, a heavenly blue. She ran quickly, actually striking the side of the corner accidentally.  
  
Then there he lied, on a stretcher before two men. They were dressed in a white gown, but cheery according to the faces. The blue light was from a circular essence resting on his head, rotating on his red band, his brown hair encircling it oddly.  
  
He was breathing, but she was oblivious to that. She rushed to touch it and as she did, the light engulfed them all in a fury of white fire. She was ready.  
  
________________  
  
  
It was said in whispers, they were small but bold. Its audacity, aturchically composed and delivered in total understanding, wasn't noticed by my ears, but by my mind. It was odd. I had never felt such an encounter with words, words so eerily perceived.  
  
They were commands, commands of whom? I suppose the feminine darkness that spread before me, an eternal substance never to be filled with light. It was lonely there, only the whispers were my companions; here and then gone in a moment's notice.   
  
My hands gripped the nothingness, my cloak flung in the darkness as if winds were thrashing it about. My hair was moving, dancing you could say, yet I tried to understand what was susceptible for this unintentional movement.  
  
I felt no wind, nothing came from the vast dark, nothing at all. I was suspended in space, swirling and twirling in the shadows like the danseur of Midgar, yet, I was without a partner.  
  
I was still there, in the darkness, in the shadows. The light was gone, she was gone. Just in my mind now, I could hold her once more. In the white reside within the dark, its puissance, faded, then finally diminished just as did the distortion, the beginning of my delusion, my eternal dream.  
  
A dream of midnight's hell that was what it was. I was falling from my dream that lied within the clouds. I would continue to question my whereabouts, only to later realize my nightmare.   
  
All I could see was the miniscule white lights, so small, like insignificant grains of sand, scattered in that midnight sky, that void where something did lie, where an evil did exist that I had no idea of. It was an infinite evil, a desire so great, a lust so wrong.  
  
A pungent thought crossed my mind as the lights began to disappear, a question that any person would ask. But to whom should I ask? The dark?   
  
I was alone again, and years would pass until that loneliness would be sated, that day when my heart would truly be content...but that is a long way from here, from the now.  
  
Only make the here, and now worthwhile...  
  
She'd whisper that to me at nights, those lonesome nights where only a lover's kiss, embrace, love could sustain. A time where life had reached its limit of pleasure was when I was with her; I loved those sweet fingertips and chocolate kisses. But, now, those pleasures were gone with a passing cold breeze.  
  
Now gone. Just like the light from this sky, absent, dead. Time would only heal such wounds, yet the time would only create more abrasions and wraiths. There would be more wraiths to haunt me, more relentless shadows and plagues of merciless pain, nibbling at my feet, hewing off my heart into the flame.  
  
Don't let the flame burn any longer... The flame, yes, that flame. The incessant fire ravaging my heart, that deadly beast, that inferno that still bellows smoke within my heart. May I live to see the day of when it will be put out, for I cannot do it myself.  
  
I am dead.  
  
The embrace of the Seraphim have brought you life, brought you strength....  
  
My body started to tremble, shaking erratically as the darkness was suddenly changed to light. I could see it, the corners of my eyes watching the four sides illuminate with that heavenly glory, yet I thought of this as a diablerie... They started to grow brighter, overtaking the dark.  
  
It was in sheer fright that I felt my heart thump so forcefully. I didn't know what was happening, and remember, I hadn't understood why I was even there. Then, another thump, this one loud and I couldn't breathe. My two hands jumped to my chest, as if holding my heart in. The sound that I made was a roar, a scream of a lion; terrified and currently mute.   
  
Then another thump, and another scream, what was this? Embrace it, sweet lover, embrace it.  
  
"Don't listen to the voice. Look away from the four points of darkness, embrace reality." Another voice; soft, lenient it was, feminine and magnificent. The four points she alluded to were those heavenly songs. Light, and each metal string outstretching into darkness, like angels of solitude, awaiting my coming, awaiting my arrival.  
  
"Close the eyes, open your heart, and let go."  
  
Why did the voice not wish for me to see it? Embrace it, you will see life as it could have been. "Vincent, listen to me. This is a camouflaged evil, a dissimilitude of what you actually see. Don't let fantasy boarder you from reality. Please, just hold on."  
  
"Why would I hold onto a reality that is barren? Don't let me loose another chance."  
  
"Let you loose? What lies within that heaven you see isn't your lover, and it isn't an everlasting peace. Please trust me, please, you are still needed here."  
  
"But do I need that world?" Embrace the light, embrace it fully. "Would you need that world? An existence were light no longer shines? Where you hope of embrace is dreamt in vain? You don't want that, Vincent. Valentines don't relinquish happiness to disguised ignorance."   
  
Disguised ignorance, was this voice a deceiver? Forget the pain, don't let another fool you back. What lied beyond the beauty of white and black was something I wasn't ready to see, whether it was, indeed, eternal pleasure or a rift between relentless pain and boundless insanity.  
  
I closed my eyes slowly as the first voice left my ears. "Let go, and come back." The confounding light that which confused me of my next destination was blue, then green, and then white. What flashed between the closing of my eyes, and the opening of them was my life.  
  
The younger years were quick, my father's death the slowest. The years of sweet Lucrecia and of the horrors that Hojo had created and the blessings he had destroyed. My conflagrant body lying within that seat, my humanity loosing itself to the beast within. My confinement in the tomb of solitude, a circumscription of which I placed upon myself.  
  
I was dying there.  
  
The opening of that tomb, the battles with the Cloud and the loss of the young gorgeousness I had come to love. Then Yuffie, and the time that passed between us. Then her end...  
  
A sheer blast of white light blinded me as the world enveloped into a white substance, a substance that was vaguely familiar to a ceiling light bulb...  
  
_____________  
  
"Open your eyes." It was a warm touch of a soothing voice, flush yet strong. A woman, a woman of black silky hair stood before me. The light that radiated from the ceiling was bright, which in turn blinded me. She was my shade for the moment, hair resting on one side, the smile rising on the next.   
  
You trusted me.  
  
She didn't say it, but thought it, and somehow echoed them into my own mind. I lied on something high, like a bed but with metal support and little comfort. My clothing was still on my body, my hair lying gently, but annoyingly on my face. The slightest hint of uneasiness rested within my lips, one end high, the other dragging.  
  
Her smile was enchanting, the eyes of a raging ocean. I felt nothing when looking into those eyes, but the hint of mystery and much power lied within them. The winds of the mountains that lied beyond my home from where that cold morning breeze dwelled seemed to awake me from a nightmare into a cherubic dream.  
  
Her eyes were like the rivulets of water, those streams that fell from my hands, cold yet soothing in sound and taste. She was that water, that beautiful cold. She was the Cold.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
She gazed within my eyes, I did the same. She looked and her eyes twitched like a string tightened on a guitar's two ends, bending to the preferred tune. This, however, was different. She was tuning me, watching and turning the metal gears, stretching me until she found it satisfactory.  
  
Satisfactory... I began to squirm, lifting myself upward, towards the light and her face. She looked in bewilderment, even more puzzled when standing. She looked down to my feet, then to my face, studying me as if something was amiss, or didn't equal what she thought it would.  
  
"Were you not wounded?" Ah, she thought I was immobilized. "Who...who..." Then it struck me like a sword going through my chest.  
  
Why was everyone so still?! The doctors, the nurses, the doors leading to another room, they were all still. I could see the two men in a position so awkward, so interesting and bizarre. What you could see was utter ebullience, subtracting the enthusiasm. A maelstrom of shock, I was literally falling to my knees of shock. What was happening?   
  
I couldn't breathe...  
  
She saw me fall, she saw me gasping, fighting for air. She eased herself down to me, raising my face to hers. "Vincent, breathe, stay calm."   
  
It was echoic, yet wise, her voice. My frailty in trusting was omitted, as my breathing started to ease itself back to its original state. The fragrant essence she gave, the ambrosial balm she wore was actually her natural aroma. They reminded me of the seas so vast, and the sky so blue with those sheets of white spreading across its splendid glory, making the scene more picturesque.  
  
"You don't remember me, do you? Do you?"  
  
"Remember you from where?" I replied with hesitation. Had I ever seen this lady before? No, I would remember such a glorious face. How could she remember me?  
  
"You don't remember. You don't remember." The first sentence was in disbelief, the second time she took that truth in her as her eyes closed. "Please tell me who you are."  
  
She gasped as if she was released from the choking hold of memories past. Looking to me, then looking to her hand. "Tifalirani, I am Tifalirani."   
  
"Tifalirani." I nodded as she gazed once more. I stood, still with questions, honestly wondering what was this all about.  
  
"Please, don't repeat my name...ever."   
  
...I did not understand, tears were starting to fall from her eyes, running down like the horses over the highest hills, all running side by side down the hill, while their tail hair flung within the wind gracefully.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Forget what I said." She said this when she realized of what she had spoken. Those words were curious to me, chaining me to uneasiness and infrequent thoughts that, in time I would remiss about. Thoughts that would make me remember that single frame in time, that frangible frame that could be easily forgotten, but wouldn't because of my arbitrary reluctance.  
  
Was it anger? Resentment that held that memory, that bound it in chains of steel and gold? Perhaps a freckle of that may be, but I was always weary of quick judgment.  
  
She rose, she fell, she cried, she told, she stared, she reminded, she died, and resurrected. That day was the longest day that was oftentimes remembered, yet I did not want to remember...  
  
Tifalirani wiped away her tears as I stepped away from her. She looked towards me, her eyes cryptic, bidding me to wait. Raising her fingers to her pink lips, she kissed them and touched the air.  
  
It was magic, I suppose. Light engulfed the room within a second, and in this frequent blinding of my eyes, I thought that this time would be the ultimate blinding. Yet, I saw her again, and I was still in that room, but this time everything was released.   
  
Released? I presume that's the word. They were released from Time's spell, or magical incantation. The two men that stood besides the stretcher that I originally lied on continued right into the room, while Tifalirani just stood there beside them, watching them pass with it. A "what the fuck" and "holy crap" could be heard from the next room, assumingly the two doctors in white, in surprise of the missing patient.  
  
I walked close to her, wondering to myself, "what is this?" She didn't respond, but I knew she was listening to my thoughts. All women have that foible of eavesdropping, I think.  
  
I have many questions, and I know you can hear me. Firstly, how do you know about Yuffie, and two, why did you come here?  
  
She looked to her left before looking directly at me. Some things are better left unspoken.  
  
She started to walk away, I followed closely behind.   
  
I don't share that thought, Miss...  
  
  
She seemed to know where she was going, turning at each corner, and in a hurry.  
  
Just refer to me as Tifa, please. I don't have much of a title in this world. Now, for all your questions, I will answer them in time, but meanwhile, we must leave this area.  
  
This area?  
  
Yes, this building, this city, now.  
  
No. I can't.   
  
I believe you must.  
  
I'm not going to leave with you without a good explanation to why you want me.  
  
She halted her marching, turned towards me as her hair and eyes swung with attitude. Anger and frustration were unleashed from her eyes. Distortion was raging as heat surrounded her. Her eyes became a furious red. I don't have time for this, and neither do you. Right now, you have no control over the situation, only refusing my bidding will make this more of an obstacle.  
  
Just tell me, and I won't ask anything more. She sighed in anger as she stepped closer, the heat growing, her eyes opening the flame. Her hands touched my face as the fray between my resistance and her frustration were no longer camouflaged.   
  
There is something in the distance falling towards this city. My clan has been trying to prevent it from striking this city, but we have failed. It will hit before sundown, and this city will be gone.  
  
What about the people? Are you going to let them die?  
  
No, and it isn't of my concern, and not of yours. Right now, I must be certain that you are safe. We only have two hours before it strikes.  
  
Then a smoldering city. Yes. Why do you need me then? I'm not allowed to tell you, but to show you the extremity of your survival. If you don't survive, no one will.   
  
She let go, I fell. The ground was a welcoming cold to my face, but the shock of it all had not made any effect. Or perhaps I didn't believe it. She wasn't at all frantic as most humans tend to be, instead she was rather calm. Maybe the autarchic basis of human response didn't influence her, it was possible she was not human.  
  
The frazzle that rose from her body suddenly vanished as her eyes still were fixated on me. Get up. We don't have time. I know it must be hard for you to understand, you have been confined to this life for so long, you being without this human emotion would be unnatural. For so long? Who do you think I am? She did not answer, only turned towards the next hallway and walked away.   
  
I instantly composed myself, pushing myself up from the cold floor. I touched my face as I felt it still warm from her flaming hands. We don't have time, keep up. With that, I ran down the hallway.  
  
What I saw, and felt was a man rushing past me, a doctor I think. Down that hallway was a man of a much more refined weapon, and a unique taste of clothing. Besides he, was a woman, a doctor as well. They both were lying besides one another, he holding her and her snuggling in his arms.   
  
Tifalirani knew the man, not the woman. They both exited with us from the hospital. I didn't understand what was with the pair, for they continuously kissed one another, holding each other firmly. I had no genuine concern or interest in this love affair, but the constant kissing would make the sequential noise of two lips intermingled with each other.  
  
I first need to go to my home. Where is it? Is it far? No. A block away from the hospital. Fine then, lead the way. In leaving the hospital, the streets curved, and the sun still burned.  
  
But I could see something, after close observation of the sky, or incessant watching of something irregular, I found it. It was purple, not red or blue, but a bright purple. I couldn't understand how it could be of this coloration, and why no one had noticed it. I could remember the days that followed after the first Meteor strike. Everyone watched the firmaments with their peripheral vision, or just simply watched.   
  
In the children's case, they would hold their mothers and fathers for comfort and reassurance, questioning them and crying with them. "Is there going to be any more meteors? Will they be coming for me? Huh, Daddy? Mommy?" I would promise myself to not let anything happen to this city again, not again.  
  
But here it is, happening once again, and I can't stop it, or warn anyone of it. Even if they are saved, the children will be forever frightened, the elderly will always observe the skies, but not out of sheer curiosity, but out of protection and fear. No man or woman would look to the heavens and wonder about its beauty. No, not anymore.  
  
Not anymore.  
  
The building stood high and tall, just as I had left it. The black soot that grew each day on the side of the building was massive, overtaking the silver metal shine of the sides, making it truly seem archaic. She told me not to take long, and I didn't. I went through the glass doors, pushed them aside as one fell off from my hastiness. I ran to the front stairs, up the stained carpet and onward to the elevator. I pushed the highest numbered button, and it made the affirmative sound. It rose, the doors opened, I stepped out.  
  
I looked around quickly. I ran up the next stairs, leading to my resting area. The glass chandelier still hung, the crimson evening sunlight made its signature stance, and with that, I knew I would miss it entirely. I walked towards my two pistols, resting on the plush leather chair recliner.  
  
I checked the clips, I took the keys to locking the elevator.   
  
I walked swiftly down the stairs, I bid farewell to the mystical chandelier that had made a mystifying incantation on my heart. I had authentic love for that glass contraption. I ran to the elevator, I pressed the button, and I reached the entrance floor. I stepped out, I inserted the key to the side of the "up" button, twisted it, and pulled it out. I ran out the door, stepped on the ajar glass door, and left the building.  
  
I believe I did it all in five minutes.  
  
"Well, you did that fast." I think he said that in amazement, he looked at the building and sighed. The build of this man was, in comparison to myself, equal. Yet, he was, of course, young, or at least he did look young. About twenty-one I think, but with time that number tends to be mutable.   
  
Tifalirani was watching the skies as I ran back. The street she stood beside was a muss, bottles and glass lying there. The finality of the hour grew close.  
  
It was time. I could see it in the complication of emotions she held. The mask was obvious, but not thick enough to hold back the emotion. The overbrim of sundown splendor was, indeed, horrid. The fact of which doom had befallen over Midgar was agonizing now.  
  
It had finally struck me.  
  
I began to cry unconsciously. Just tears falling as we walked away to the gates. It was clear to me now that the emotion was beginning to deluge. An abundant source of regret, sorrow, and love for the city left me glistening on my cheeks.  
  
Then Yuffie...  
  
Oh god, Yuffie... 


	8. Four: Part Two of Four Sorry about the ...

2  
  
It was a dance, a glissade of insobriety that they did. They fell as if intoxicated on their own destruction; the fuel was the impatience. It was insidiously planned, and exactly carried out by gravity's way. Death was smiling at the sight while the lady of Life's Glory mourned in despair, wishing the impossible, dreaming of another day and another sight; a dream of happiness.   
  
Yet, within her algalm of misery and pity, she saw within the twinkling of her eye the sunrise again. In those eyes she cried in happiness, for she saw another day come, and the nightfall. Within the twilight of the gods, she saw the savior ride in his glory, redeeming his broken city once again.  
  
But the nightfall came again, and the world was quiet.  
  
Quiet once again, and the sea of emptiness engulfed the city of the dead once more. The nations of the East looked to the West and praised the heaven's whose hell was among the dead, and the soulless. The finality of the hour was apparent, and the two became one, and the second twilight struck, and death grinned and chuckled. The Norns spoke once more, and fell to their final oblivion.  
  
The world was falling, and the nightfall was here to stay.  
My mind was querulous, yet my lips were quiescent. The mantic sky and the stones that were before me held the truth that I could not interpret, a truth not wished to be understood. The quiddity of this night was dissolving before me, as I could not awake from a frightful dream. I was walking, yes, but dreaming of the panic and terror. I was dreaming of Yuffie, of Marlene. Of Barret and where he could be.   
  
People began to see the apocalyptic marvel that the heavens had brought, wondering to themselves, thinking silently, clandestinely little words. Prattle, just talk, yet in the conversing with themselves, the deliberation of this masterdom of beauty, I knew they found it somewhat frightening, yet not taking the fact of it's current course.   
  
It was becoming larger, and with every second, the light of this world began to fade over those hills of green where the cold morning breeze would originate, flowing between the grass of green and the gates of stone. Searching, inspecting the city for it's lovers, its appreciating party. Now, the masquerade was removed, and the hell of violet fire was made apparent. It would manifest itself in the minds of the people, cringing now, thinking the truth, and materializing the actuality of the moment, the sickening truth that escape was impossible.  
  
They were thinking softly, tears forming in the eyes like stones, only maximizing the fate of Midgar, of my Midgar. The fitful home was vanishing in water of the distressed, a plague of fear; a ending so unfitting that would end in quietude. It would end swiftly, yet the fire would burn, the fire would surely incinerate the comfort once felt here, for in my heart I knew that Midgar would never be what it was able to be, and what it should be.  
  
Oh the tears! The outcome of rifts and embankments of abysmal pain, suffering, and loathing were falling on my cheeks like burning fire. Glass, cutting the flesh with their purpose, so sad, so horrid.   
  
I couldn't stand it; I could not overcome the sorrow. It was pain that I didn't want to see, feel, or empathize for. No, I would not to empathize or even try to understand it, for I had been in chains of my own repentance, my own self-pity. I felt a pity that burned my own heart, smoldering it into the ashes, as the tears of glass would wash away.  
  
Those tears started to cut my own eyes now.  
  
A cemetery of the lost, a burrow of unremitting souls, Midgar was becoming a part of myself. The place which the past would dig itself a grave so deep, so far below the surface that the fire that fueled those smoldering flames, burning in the dark, would too, burn the past. Torturing it, as its nails would scratch the coffin, the coffin of my nightmares.  
  
The coffin of a foretime.  
  
The aegis of that foretime was here now, walking with me on those stone steps and amongst the tears of children. Tears I didn't want to see anymore, and steps that I didn't want to walk on.  
  
Not ever again.  
  
It was pattered within my mind, spoken repeatedly without the common hint of a heart. Never again. How long could I repeat them? How long did I want to repeat those words, the vow? This city, damned by the stars and malicious night, was repeating them for me.  
  
Slowly, so slowly, like each stroke on thin brass strings, tightened and tuned to play that monotonous note, continuously enabled for that one simple note by that bow of horsehair and a wooden handle. Yes, it all was engaged, the playing of strings and dull emphasis, yet, it meant so much. Every tear, and every deafening tune released and played was just another signal that I had only begun to understand my plight.   
  
It was a circumstance that had rendered me unhelpful.  
  
With each step came an echo, and out of that echo was the reminding of departing time, a time that I must outrun, supposedly. According to the black silk dress, and black boots of rough leather, the world would end without me.  
  
What significance do I hold to the world? A good question, yet it was never answered. Only the flicker of that black beauty was a sort of mesmerizing thing, something to calm me just a little. It was my appeasement, I suppose, as the volatile surroundings had changed from tranquility to eerie silence.  
  
It was an affinity of a bestial place where the dead sleep, and the mourners' weep.  
  
What was demeritorious and responsible of this dreaded ending? Was it another Sephiroth of simple insanity whose beliefs and trusts were placed in the most inane of things? She would never answer that one question, so informative and quick. I feared that Tifalirani didn't know herself, let alone want that ignorance to be public.  
  
This was all speculation, and perhaps truth, but whatever it was, or classified as didn't matter to me; all that did was Midgar.  
  
Yet, nothing was left for me to do. Nothing could be done to fix the shattered glass, that fragmentalized simulacrum of serenity. The seraphim of sweet serenity would pass me with that night's sky glaze overhead, watching ever intently over the four persons that knew of Fate's decision, of the destined happening.  
  
Of Death.  
  
So, we left the gates, and still walked onward into the light, from the darkness, or so I thought. Whatever, and wherever I was journeying to, I knew from this moment on, that I would be entirely alone. Yet, the slight clue of blind jollity, and momentary folly wasn't as evident as to Tifalirani – and with that, she broke the silence.  
  
From the smallest footstep, to the loudest cry; this sound was the most inharmonious. The light of the inferno – and discordant distress it brought with it had only become bland truth to her as she saw it shine within her eyes, and in those eyes, I saw the clashing knowledge and sudden fright.  
  
She fell to her knees to the revelation – something not meant to be understood, for no logic dwelled within Death's palms, only the empty darkness, that discordant song of chaos. A chaos that mankind had held within itself; its sin and ultimate diablerie.   
  
She was feeling the outcome of that chaos, the sin of which demons fed from the guilt and emotional distraught. The human condition finally overcame her mind, and knees. Now, here she was, weeping and sobbing in her own hands when all the while the waterfalls disentangled into small brooks and streamlets.  
  
The little streamlets that children would cry; the rivage was her hands, holding the pool of emotions until it overfilled. They were the walls to prevent the outburst, but they fell like so many things do…  
  
Yet, I did nothing but feel the same. The rite of sorrow had fallen upon her and I, and the stars had let the clouds overcome the city on last time.  
  
She was frightened to see him so close to her; he was so close that she could smell him. His fragrance of the windy plains and smoky mountains were appeasing to her fragile nose; his face was a general splendor to her eyes. And the handsome looked upon the fragile, and he held her close.  
  
"Are you alright?" It took her time to respond – she was rather dizzy and unaware. For the past thirty seconds he had been patting her shoulder, waiting for some shift of the eyes, or movement from her small fingers. Yet, only her bosom moved in the sequential steps of exhalation and inhalation.   
  
He looked over her a bit of amazement and superficial love, but then he looked again and saw no lust; neither did he feel its power. He saw her, and loved her. Then her eyes opened, and he gazed into them.  
  
She immediately jumped to her feet, hoping to regain the previous posture she had displayed, but she couldn't. Her hair was messy, her white overcoat was dusty, and she was sneezing.  
  
Sneezing hard, very hard indeed. She was embarrassed, mystified, and somewhat interested in the man all at once. She had to say something, obviously. It was the only thing she could do, and not look so pathetic.  
  
"Who are you?! Huh? Why was I on the floor?" He felt his throat tighten, and his hands clench the sweat that had assembled there. Little drips of salted water formed on his forehead, his hair was pasted to it. Why was he so afraid? How old was he, for God's sake – two? He tried to swallow something, but choked on it, which I think was air.  
  
He choked on air…  
  
She was pretty startled at the outburst of coughing; she stepped back a little. His hands were covering his mouth, and his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. She looked at him shyly, but tried not to flirt with them, yet she couldn't hold her response of looking at something so…lasciviously interesting.  
  
She moved her tongue to two places of her mouth, gathering the spit to lick her lips with. It made a glossy shine, a dumb attempt at looking "sexy". It wasn't like he had noticed; he was a rather clueless person who happened to be of a great place, which she had not seen yet, and hopefully for her sake never will.   
  
"I'm sorry; you fainted but I broke your fall…" A brief silence, but he then opened his mouth as he remembered that crazed doctor. "…There was a man chancing after you."  
  
"And you raised the gun to his face!" She jumped to the surprising remembering of the incident. Then looked to the side, and rubbed her hands. She had to apologize.  
  
"So, I guess I should be thanking you – sorry."  
  
"Why was he chasing you any way?" Somewhat of a awkward question to answer, since she was a bitch. She tried to think of something else, in an actual attempt to make her sound decent. But how could she? She was cruel, bland, and blunt – that's it. Yet, she hadn't seen such a handsome man since her husband died; the source of anguish. Yes, she wasn't over the fact of his death. It was just five months though, he died during the Meteor attack.  
  
A building made him go squish!  
  
To be terse – she loved him beyond belief, yet he treated her like shit. She was a faithful woman, loving and true, however, he had proven to her that men were indeed assholes, and that shit like "true love" and "happily ever after" really was just shit.  
  
He, Mr. Handsome, that is, was a real lover. Not that he had actually loved anyone else but his mother – he was just born a lover. A man made to treat a woman how she'd ought to feel; how she wanted to feel. Not just sex, but the total package. He was the real deal, however, he was really shy.  
  
Not that it is his fault; he isn't really from this world, and his mission was of something greater than finding women and making them feel good – nope.  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
"Shouldn't I?"  
  
"Shouldn't I what?"  
  
"Worry about it, y'know? I'm sorry, today just hasn't been the best day and – Oh shit!" She mentally kicked herself for forgetting the bullet victim, and kicked herself twice for screaming the word "shit" in front of a guy she was actually impressed with. She hadn't remember the name of the patient, which is sad because he could possibly be dead by now – or maybe she could be over-reacting… The guy walked slowly behind her, watching her go; laughing slightly to the oblique turns and flippant turns and shifts down those corridors. She didn't waste any time getting there, however, she cursed with five fucks and two shits. But, when she reached down to where she expected him to be; she didn't find him.  
  
She didn't find him, and she was frightened to that knowledge. How could she loose her patient? She didn't jump automatically to that conclusion at first, though. She did, however, freak. And what I mean by "freak", I mean the literal connotation.  
  
She freaked. Yet, she couldn't help but blame it on someone else. She didn't like to refer to her problems as her own; she was denying things for as long as she could remember. Faustine Calixte, the girl who always denied the facts, even when the evidence proved otherwise. She was a liar, in other words; stubborn and churlish in more ways than one.  
  
"Max, my patient. Where's the patient?!"   
  
"Patient? What patient?" The man was a new guy; she was stunned to remember his name. "The, um, the, um…"  
  
"The patient was gone before the sub could get to him."  
  
"He left without any treatment?"  
  
"Yeah. Just got up, and left. I think this lady helped him too." She didn't waste any time rushing to the door, still with that guy following him. Running through the bright white lights and on the blue tiles of a cold hospital, she was running to hope to catch up with him. What she found was something bright in the sky, and a bunch of people looking up at it.  
  
It was a bright purple ball, reminiscent of something that she couldn't remember…   
It was the gleaming purple amongst the vast black that kept me looking, but I couldn't see amongst the tears and privy emotions that blurred everything. Daylight was simply no more for those moments when leaving, and those gates at the edge of the city weren't as much of a great thing to see from the last time I saw it. There was one similarity, however, and that similarity was what kept me turning my face away.   
  
It was that the gates weren't meant to represent the city in anyway; quite the opposite, indeed. The prodigality that the gates personified was the overshadowing pain that I would feel. The bricks of the gate were bigger than my whole body; massively built to restrain attacks to ever topple it. It stood there with a sinister essence, black like shadow, strong like Sephiroth's hand. I would pass through it like every time before, looking at it's devilish splendor; but this time I could taste the five burns of despondency; I would believe that felicity didn't exist, and that the world had lost its worth for a time. Those were the times of barrenness, the everlastings of unbelievable pain.  
  
It all started here.   
  
It began with one step, and then another; leading me further away from my home, the home that I was accustomed to. It all disappeared within a day's light, from the first sunrise to the fusillade of night's becoming. That was the last night that I would whisper so soft and gentle words of regret; the last moment in which I would furrow in Yuffie's arms and sing in a furor of great joys and moments I had lived within that city.   
  
Interesting to which you cry, Vincent. Crying for something that was never welcoming you. What? What I mean is, that you never realized that things would come to an end. In which all things do. Your past is nothing but toil, just you fumbling over the woes of others and the relentless troubles of yourself. Why?  
  
I thought to myself, knowing that she would know them too. My thoughts were no longer my own, for she had the will to read them – yet, not to understand them. And when she was opening my mind as we walked those plains, I could hear voices from the back of my head. Not whispers, but small things. I didn't understand what it was at first. What is that?  
  
What? The voices within my mind. I can hear small voices. You should not trouble yourself with them. But, it is the mourning of a man. A man? Yes, a man you know of.   
  
I didn't understand. What man? I could hear it more clearly now. Its voice was of a masculine attribute, he was weeping, weeping so hard. Barret?  
  
Yes. Where? Here. "Leigh, stop." That was the rifleman's name, Leigh. "Do you hear it?"  
  
He swiftly turned to her question, walking in another direction, northwest of us. The cool of the night was nothing I wasn't habituated to. Faustine, however, was shivering in the dark, was left to grope in the grass, and cower to the sounds of night's bestial customs. The dark was a small synopsis of what lied ahead to me; I wasn't surprised. Faustine didn't share that, only did what she could do best in such occasions – squirm.  
  
I turned to her, came close as I could while hearing the moans more and more loud. I saw her recoil in fear to my dark image; her face becoming tense and fearful. "It's me, don't worry, it's me."  
  
"Oh – good. I thought you were an animal or something!"  
  
I reassured her while leading her on; she was reluctant to make any more steps. "I'm sorry if you mind me asking – but why are you here?"  
  
"Nah, no problem. I'm trying to get to Niebelhiem, and Leigh said that you wouldn't mind me coming along. Do you?"  
  
"No, not at all. You just don't seem much of a traveler."  
  
"Well, not without a buggy. Now, may I ask you something?"  
  
"Only to be fair, I suppose."  
  
"Do you believe what they are telling us? I mean, seriously."  
  
"Yes, actually. Look at it, and you will have no doubt – to say the least."  
  
"I'm sorry; I've never believed for one second it would happen." She wore a skeptical face; I could only think about what she felt. She looked like a cynical person, and from what I could remember from within the hospital was her screaming voice – my thoughts would only be considered as true. It also was evident that she wasn't much a traveling woman. If she would be a burden to lead, it would be best that she would travel alone.   
  
"Well, when do you suppose it will hit Midgar?" I had no time to reply. "By the sunrise, it will be a horrid sight." Leigh was there right besides me, amazingly enough, I didn't realize his presence. He's waiting for you, Vincent. Go to him.  
  
"What?" I replied hastily, frightening Faustine again. "Go to Tifa – you'll find him." And so I went. The crack of the frost-covered grass, and the accumulation of cold air were becoming brutal. A touch from one the surrounding leaves from trees still falling in natural elegance wasn't noticed as my mind was contemplating what lied beneath the dark. It was something I didn't want to see – for as my hands moved the dark, the leaves and all impediments aside; I felt my legs give away.  
  
I told you what it would do. More pangs of anguish, another day for Vincent the Lonely. Let me be – just let me be. Now that you finally see her, you can do nothing but cry? No. Pay your respects, and go. Never leave the dead with regrets.  
  
I wasn't breathing anymore; I didn't want to breathe any longer. The sinuous sight of Barret weeping to his daughter lying there in his arms was suicidal in itself. Her hair was what reminded me, the small body of a girl so sweet, so small. He was just holding her, gripping her, reminding him of the times that passed him by so quickly. The effete moment was of my lowest. The effulgent dark was elaborated in immoral death.  
  
I didn't want to breathe.  
  
"She's gone now. She's left me like her Mom. Like her…" I started to move my hands to my face, for my mourning would come out three-fold. The leaves were swaying to the slow motion of her hair. Moving back and forth like the needle and thread she would use to knit. It was a small hobby of hers, very effervescent was she in her designs.   
  
Let us go. No, I'm not leaving him behind. I could feel my heart suffocate in flames, and my mind bleed to the fact. The blood was the panacea to all hatred that I could ever release. An elixir of hell, you could say; my hand was tensing, my mind was closing. Tifa could understand it, but she wouldn't let me release it. Stop it. You couldn't do anything about it. There was always a way, Tifa. That's the element we are given to stop the supposed inevitable. The thing is, I didn't use it. You didn't know, Vincent! How could you have known?! Don't ask me something that I could never answer. Yuffie died because of me not being there. Stop it. Marlene died because of me. Stop it! And Sheryl, Castolf's sister, she is gone too. And why? Because I wasn't there, and now I'm in the hell of it all. The hell that I've been avoiding so hard – for so long. And it comes to this – to here. And now, I failed again – the relentless failure, the inconceivable dilemma I always leave people in, just death, death, and more death: first Lucrecia, then Yuffie, and now this.  
  
Don't you think that you're the only person to feel as if you ruin everyone else's life, don't be a fool. You didn't do anything, and there was nothing to be done. Don't make this harder than this already is for you. There are reasons to things that happen – that's the component to life, the lack of logic. Every man has felt this way some point in his life, some more extreme than others, but we all know that we must go on.  
  
Yuffie would have wanted that, I suppose.   
  
Yuffie… Yuffie!! I was screaming with both mind and mouth. Screaming so loud, such a savage sound. Her skin was pale, like she was an apparition of her former self. It was sheer vicissitude, just the bland taste of pain, like the life that I once had left me. I was whimpering with each breath, with each blink at her ghostly face.   
  
Her eyes were open. Open like she had seen me every morning. Her dress that was of a coarse brown to keep her warm was drenched with blood. Her bosom, chest, and lower chin wore blood like water was splashed over her like the rain from that empty sky. The vitriolic tears, burning my cheeks like fire and vinegar, fell down like boulders from the highest cliffs.   
  
Her hair wasn't like her original hair. The sheen was gone; the liveliness of it went with her soul. The once sprightly woman was dead, and yet, I couldn't let go of her – and I didn't let go of her. I just wept as I held her so tightly, so forcefully.  
  
I never did let go.  
"What do you fuckin' mean? Embargo? Do you know what this shit means for us? Mideel and Kalm is our biggest income provider."  
  
They weren't arguing. This is the way Cid starts a conversation, either by yelling unnecessarily some profanity, or just by yelling period. It's how he got attention, though Shera found him ridiculously loud for his age. In the bedroom was where they usually spoke. Why? To avoid the eavesdropping of crewmen, and little suspicions. That was their way. Plus, Shera liked the room a plenty. From her nice smooth wooden floors to her stone columns on each corner of the room; it would make it look so "interesting".  
  
Cid liked sitting on the nice, plush bed while speaking with her. The deluging comfort of that bed made Cid feel somewhat relaxed, but the cumbrance of this pissy day made the comfort helpless in calming the man down; Shera resented the fact.  
  
"What about Midgar? Niebelhiem?"  
  
"Shera, come on – think about it. They're both fucked up when technology comes along! Midgar is because of the Meteor, and Niebelhiem has always been 'dumbassville'!"  
  
She was getting confused; what did this mean for them? Well, the amount of times Cid had uttered the word 'fuck' had been an inclination towards the state of being in "seriously bad shit". What were they to do? Why did this happen? Why are they refusing business? There were questions, but no fuckin' answer in sight; that pissed her off. "Well, what can we do?"  
  
"I know I can get a meetin' in there; make a big fuss and try to get them to let off but I need to know why first. Do you know anything?"  
  
"No, not really." A sigh.  
  
"Well, who told you about it?"  
  
"Red. Red did because he was at the Grand Assemblage." Another sigh.  
  
"That Ball, right?"   
  
"Yes Cid, the Ball." And another. She was thinking about something. Wondering about what could have triggered this. She tried not to look at Cid's face while thinking; she would only grow more pessimistic, but he was right. Why the hell didn't the say anything to them? Why not contact the biggest importer before making such a big decision?  
  
Wait. She thought. Her daddy said something about tactical measures: yeah, her daddy before his untimely death at what, sixty-two? She would refer to him a lot – but I'll tell you later about him.   
  
Leave no margin for error, especially if you're preparin' for somethin' big. She knew why.  
  
"There's something really big going on; the men in charge already know something." It was blurted. Blurted like she was trying to breathe. Her father would know of these things because of the past war he had been in. "What do they know?"  
  
"Something… We need to get to Cosmo Canyon so I can talk with Red."  
  
"Well, I'm going to leave for Gongaga. I'm gonna talk with the Board about this before I loose any money. By tomorrow I should be there. If not, there's gonna be hell to pay." 


End file.
